#is there any way in which that anger is at all helpful to you or anyone? or do you just feel bad now??

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)

Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): hidden feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, intimidation, crushes, suggestive themes, swearing

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.

Yet he feels completely out of control.

This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.

Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.

A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.

Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.

His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.

Good. Fucking good.

You turn too, brow furrowed.

"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.

John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."

"Y—yes. Sir."

The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.

What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He���s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.

Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.

Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.

“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” he growls.

Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”

The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.

“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.

Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.

"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.

"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"

"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.

Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.

He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.

The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.

You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.

But that hardly matters.

Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.

He is so close to making you his.

No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)

"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."

Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.

It still hurts. Still aches.

The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.

His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.

"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.

Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.

"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.

"She's mine."

"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.

One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.

"Take a deep breath, Lt."

"I'm trying."

taglist:

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[humanconditionpoetry]

I can agree with everything in this post, but I also want to say that while the term Narcissist and ASPD are being thrown around too much for my liking. Let us also not dismiss those that have loved ones and/or suffered abuse under these disorders. Sometimes, "The Shitty Asshole" as the OP puts it, is actually these personality disorders. I understand that it is a very common response to trauma and that some criteria of the DSM need to change. However, that doesn't have to invalidate those that have the disorder and those who suffered from loved one or people they know with the disorder(most often times the person is undiagnosed, but I think many of you get it).

Look, I am all for giving people a chance to manage their condition and change, but a lot of the times with these personality disorders, they do not see anything wrong with them. The current psychology model is to figure out how the disorders are distressing to the individual, that does not really work if the person does not see anything wrong with them(esp. in extreme cases). A lot of the times, people with these disorders go to therapy due to something else, like addiction, depression, divorce or relationship issues and anger management. So, they get treated for those things, but still have problems, which causes the therapist to look deeper. Now the people with these disorders(not all), will try to outwit and outfox the therapist or person treating them. They also might do, what we psychologist call "Therapy Hopping", because the moment you try to figure them out or get deeper into the trauma, they might end with that therapist and find another one.

Basically, this is a very difficult disorder to treat and we should be trying to encourage people to seek help. However, you also have to come to terms with the idea that that person can get help(provided they have the resources too), not get it or even consider it and still treat you like a "shitty asshole". And that is ok. It is okay to want what is best for this person and empathize with them to a point, but also be like "you were a piece of shit and ass to me and I do not own you anything".

Now, it is a little different when you treating someone obviously, but that is whole different issue.

Signed -

Someone who has taken a brunch of Psych classes as a Psych Minor and is Applying to Clinical Psych Doctorate Program. Who also happens to have a serve Malignant Narcissistic Father (who also has ASPD and PPD) and suffered his abuse, as well as the abuse he put on the family for the first 22 years of my life. By the way, he was undiagnosed and did not consider therapy at all due to a variety of reasons(not because he could not do so). Yes he was a "Shitty Asshole", Yes I asked him to go to therapy and encouraged seeking help. Those two things can exist at the same time.

Also before any of you come at me, just know I had access to the DSM and observed my father for 2 years before coming to these conclusions as we taught the power of labels as psychologist or in general.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk and I hope you all have an amazing day!

Being an asshole is not in the DSM. Not everyone you hate is mentally ill and not everyone who does bad things is mentally ill either.

The DSM is a highly flawed and politicized way to define mental health disabilities that I have a lot of personal gripes with, but even THEY don't have "Shitty Asshole Disease" as a mental illness.

[mymindisneverhere]

FAVORS

Part Six

warnings: 18+ MDNI!, sub!Terry, soft dom!black fem OC, explicit language, angst, lots of dialogue (forgive me if I missed any)

a/n: Don’t hate Khloé too much.

Masterlist: Favors 1-5

Khloé looked up at the large clock that hung above her sofa. Terry was running 20 minutes late which meant they’d be running late for her mother’s party. He knew how Khloé felt about being late to things, especially family gatherings. Although this was only his first time being late, she’d make sure he wasn’t late again.

“I’m sorry, Summer needed help with her car. It took longer than expected.” He said walking into her home. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

Khloé exhaled, letting all of the breath out of lungs, attempting to keep control of her anger. 

“I know you will.” Khloé responded, not bothering to look up at him. “I’m ready to go, the car is downstairs.”

Khloé was really trying to suppress her jealousy but the more she heard Summers name, the more she became annoyed with her and she didn’t even know her. She could tell in the small amount of time she had known Terry, how selfless he was, especially for those he cared for most. But her constant need for all of his attention was getting the best of her. 

The ride to her parents house was dead silent. Terry couldn’t help but sense the attitude she had with him. Ever since the night she opened up about her personal dreams, she had become more talkative with him. Sharing her opinions and views on things that interests her most. 

But she was silent for the entire ride. Terry didn’t know what to think. Usually her attitudes would follow up a threat, that way he’d know what he was in for later in the evening. It would also be a sign that she didn’t plan on staying mad at him for too long. But she just sat quietly, staring out of the window until they arrived at her parents home. 

Terry parked the car and looked over at her as she grabbed her purse from the passenger floor. She searched through her small Chanel tote, looking for her signature lipstick to apply another layer before entering the house.

“You didn’t say anything the whole ride. Are you that mad at me for being late?” Terry asked, eyebrows raised. 

“No.”

“Then why were you so quiet the whole ride?” 

“I’m just thinking about how I want to deal with you later on that’s all. But I’m not upset with you.” She said, putting emphasis on you. “Let’s go.” Khloé sat back, waiting for Terry to get out and open her door. 

He made his way to her side and helped her out as he always did. She grabbed his hand and they held onto each other as they entered the large home, falling into the routine they’d practiced too many times. 

They stepped into the large foyer, immediately being greeted with the delicious smell of food and soft music playing. 

“There she is!” A woman exclaimed, holding out her arms as she approached Khloé and Terry. 

“Kandace!” Khloé yelled, letting go of Terry's hand and embracing her big sister. They rocked back and forth expressing how much they missed each other and couldn’t wait to catch up. 

“Wait a second, who is this?” Kandace asked, staring up at Terry with a raised brow. 

“Kandace, this is my boyfriend Terry. Terry, this is my big sister/second mom Kandace.” Khloé said, keeping her eyes on her sister as she approached Terry. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you Kandace.” Terry greeted, with a warm smile, holding his hand out. 

“I’m a hugger.” Kandace said, pulling him into a snug embrace. “It’s nice to meet you as well!”

She released Terry and turned to her sister. “Dad told me you brought someone to the family banquet but I didn’t think you actually had taste.” 

“Shut up Kandace!” Khloé playfully slapped her sister's arm, rolling her eyes. The interaction between the two sisters caused Terry to crack a smile.

The three of them engaged in conversation, totally forgetting who they were there celebrating. Kandace talked about the time she spent overseas living in Japan with her husband. Terry was genuinely intrigued, amazed at her love for the culture and the people. 

Khloé stared at her older sister, pure admiration in her eyes. Kandace was everything Khloé wished she could be. They both were bold in the way they presented themselves and fearless in demanding what they wanted but Kandace always made it her mission to live her life the way she saw fit. Something Khloé was obviously still having a hard time doing. 

Terry noticed this, the way Khloés eyes sparkled as she listened to her older sister tell stories about her time spent in the foreign country. He could tell they were close, the way they clung to each other, sharing inside jokes and exchanging compliments. 

“Well are you here to see Kandace, are you here to celebrate your mother?” Khloé heard the deep tone from behind her. Heels clicked the floor slowly as she turned to meet her mothers gaze. 

“Happy Birthday mom!” Khloé smiled, walking into her mothers arms. 

“Thank you dear.” Mrs. MacArthur smiled. Her smile slowly turned into shock as her eyes landed on Terry. “Terrance, it’s so good to see you again!” 

Mrs. MacArthur instantly released her daughter and practically ran over to Terry. It caught him by surprise when she hugged him, squeezing him tight. Not wanting to be rude, he hugged her back, a pair of puzzled eyes on Khloé as she stared blankly at them. 

“It’s good to see you as well ma’am.” 

“Princess!” Mr. MacArthur announced, walking over to his youngest daughter, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

“Hi daddy.” Khloé smiled, hugging her father. 

“Terrance, good to see you son.” Mr. MacArthur said, shaking his hand firmly. 

“It’s good seeing you as well sir.” 

“Well I hate to break up this reunion but dinner is ready. If everyone could make their way into the formal dining room that'd be great.” Mr. MacArthur said to the room full of family and friends. 

Terry couldn’t help but notice Khloé stuck in a daze as her eyes locked onto the floor where her mother was standing. He immediately made his way over to her, stepping around her mother. 

“What’s wrong?” Terry asked, looking down at her. 

Khloé quickly shook her head and cleared her throat. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking about the good food we’re about to eat.” She answered with a fake smile on her face. Terry stayed put for a few more seconds. He knew she was lying but he wasn’t one to push her beyond her limits so he nodded and held his hand out for her to take. 

The guests made their way into the formal dining room to see a long table covered in dishes from end to end. Mr. MacArthur sat at the head of the large table while his wife sat on the opposite end. Everyone took their seats and prepared their plates as small conversations filled the room. 

Khloé took a seat right next to her sister Kandace who sat next to their dad. Terry was right beside her. They fell back into their conversation from earlier never missing a beat. Mr. MacArthur joined in sharing his experiences from traveling abroad and the many cultures he learned about as well. 

*Clink Clink Clink* 

The sound of a silver spoon tapping against a champagne glass caused everyone’s head to snap in the direction of the sound. Mrs. MacArthur stood at the end of the table as she made sure she had everyone’s undivided attention. 

“I just want to thank everyone for coming to help me celebrate my 60th birthday. Although I don’t look my age.” She joked, receiving small chuckles from the guests at the table. “To be surrounded by friends and family and my husband who I love, this has really made my night. If only my pride and joy were here to help me celebrate.” 

She was referring to her son, also known as the “Golden Child”, Kameron. Khloés older brother, the one who could do no wrong in her mothers eyes even when all he did were the wrong things. Kameron was a free spirited person who came and went as the wind blew. 

Khloé expected him to show for their mothers birthday but then again if he had something more important to do that always came before family. Even if the important thing was laying up under his ex-stripper turned fiancé who he met on tour as a DJ. Khloé was here every second her mother needed her while her siblings were nowhere to be found unless they wanted to be found. Even still she went unnoticed. 

“Thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoy the amazing food Lucille has cooked for us. Let’s dig in!” With that everyone turned to their plates. Before anyone could return to their conversations Mrs. MacArthur decided to get Terry’s attention. 

“So Terrance, what exactly is it about my daughter that piqued your interests?” Mrs. MacArthur asked, placing her fork that held her Caesar Salad into her mouth. 

Everyone’s attention turned to Terry awaiting his response.  

“Well uh, it’s her passion, her fearlessness, her determination. She’s very proud to be herself, she doesn’t let anyone stop her from being all that she is.” He responded, looking over at Khloé. “I admire that about her.” 

Khloé smiled softly at him as she took a sip of her drink. Everyone nodded, pleased with his answer, silently whispering their compliments for him to each other. 

“She gets it from me.” Mrs. MacArthur started, “I’ve always expressed to her the importance of presence.  You have to let everyone in the room know that you’re there, if not they’ll look right over you.

“But I have to say I'm quite surprised to see you at another family gathering, I was sure she’d run you off with her inability to keep someone around.” Mrs. MacArthur spat, not bothering to meet her daughter's eyes. 

“Angela.” Mr. MacArthur gave his wife a look, warning her to stop while she was ahead. 

“I’m just being honest dear. She’s in her 30s with no husband, no children, no real home. I was beginning to think she’d be one of those women who owns animals to take the place for the lack of human interaction in her life.” She joked, laughing to herself. 

A few guests laughed at that last statement, all but Kandace and Terry. Khloé sat quietly but her anger didn’t go unnoticed. Her sister patted her leg, silently letting her know she was supporting her. Khloés jaw clenched as she felt herself beginning to tear up but she didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing that after all of these years, the things she said still got to her. 

“I think she has plenty of time to experience those things. I mean we only get one time to live a life we truly love, I believe moving at your own pace is important. Rushing into things never really works out anyway, most things are worth waiting for.” Terry stated as respectfully as he could. 

Her mother looked over at him, a small smirk spreading across her face. She nodded, raising a shady brow as she finished her champagne. 

“Well said son.” Mr. MacArthur nodded. 

A smirk crept onto Khloés face as she noticed her mothers silence. There was rarely ever a time where she didn’t have a rebuttal for someone who didn’t agree with her. Khloé looked over at Terry as he dug into his plate nonchalantly. Her admiration for him was growing greater as the days went by. 

His ability to shut her mother down respectfully and gracefully had her wanting to pull him away from the table and into the powder room down the hall, fuck a punishment. 

“Keep him.” Kandace whispered into her ear causing Khloé to look at her. Kandace gave her a ‘bitch you better’ look while taking a sip of her wine. 

The family conversation continued with Khloé no longer being the topic of the table. The small group wined and dined as they shared personal stories, experiences and laughs amongst each other. 

Terry reached into his pocket to grab his cell phone that was vibrating. It was a message from Summer. Khloé couldn’t help but to look down at his phone. She only saw a glimpse of the name before looking away, hoping Terry didn’t see her looking. She stared down at her plate as her mind began to fill with thoughts… again.

‘She’s like family.’ 

‘I just wanted to return the favor.’ 

“Well that was delicious.” Mr. MacArthur stated loudly, snapping Khloé out of her mind. “Terrance, come. I want to show you my latest purchase, a 1967 Convertible Mustang. I’m sure you know a lot about cars, don't you son?” He smiled and nodded before getting up from the table. 

“Oh yes sir.” Terry answered. “It’s okay if I leave you here with your sister right?” He turned to her wanting to get the okay to step away from her. 

Khloé nodded, giving him an artificial smile. With that, Terry stepped away from the table and followed her father down a long hallway to their six door garage. Mrs. MacArthur sat silently as she had been watching the whole thing play out. 

“Gosh, that food was delicious.” Khloé said, opening the door to her old bedroom. It was still decorated from when she was a teenager. Mindless Behavior posters, Bratz dolls and her old Nintendo DS that still worked if she could find the charger to it. 

“Girl forget about that food, tell me about that snack you got downstairs! “Kandace said, following right behind her. “So spill it, where the hell did you meet a man like that?” Kandace took a seat on Khloés childhood bed.

Khloé paused for a while before answering her sister. She wanted to give her the same bullshit story she’d given everyone else about Terry but she couldn’t. Her sister was her rock and no matter how big of a lie she told, Kandace always saw through it. 

“Kandace, I’m a bit embarrassed but I don’t want to lie to you.” Khloé started, taking a seat at her small vanity covered in stickers. “He’s a worker.” 

Kandace’s eyebrows bent in confusion. “What do you mean by worker?” 

“He works at one of the warehouses in the rural area, just off the freeway. I was visiting a while ago, doing my usual “check ups” and I saw him.” Khloé was so ashamed. 

“Okay so what’s wrong with that? You fell in love with a regular guy, that’s better than those attention junkies you used to date.” 

Khloé braced herself for the harsh truth she was about to reveal. “He’s not really my boyfriend. I’m paying him to be here with me.” 

Kandace sat up straight and stared at her baby sister, her mouth slightly open. She stared at her sister for a while, completely confused as to what she was doing and why. 

“Why are you paying him?” 

“Because I can’t keep a man to save my life.” Khloé leaned against the vanity with her head in her hands. “The last thing I wanted to hear from mom and dad was how I was gonna end up all alone and miserable. I just wanted them to lay off of me for once.” 

“Khloé.” Kandace spoke softly, inching closer to her sister. “Why do you let what they say get to you so easily? Who cares what they think about your love life?” 

“I do.” Khloé shot back, meeting her sister's eyes. “Look how long they’ve been together, all of the things they’ve accomplished together.” 

“They are not the couple you wanna model your relationship after.” Kandace mumbled. 

“Knock Knock!” A high pitched voice sang out, interrupting their conversation. The strong smell of cheap perfume took over the room as Khloé realized exactly who had entered her bedroom. 

“Nia, where have you been? How are you?” Kandace smiled, getting up to hug her. They embraced each other, pulling away to look each other up and down, taking note of their outfits. 

“I’ve just been in the wind as usual. I’m doing good girl but how are you? You’ve been traveling the world so much we barely get to see you anymore.” Nia stated. 

Khloé rolled her eyes as she tried to get herself together. Aside from her mother being one person she didn’t wanna let see her sweat, Nia was second on that list. She cleared her throat as she turned around to face her cousin. 

“Khloé girl, I saw that man of yours downstairs.” Nia stated, with a raised brow. “You’ve got him trained, he barely said two words to me.” 

“Well he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Nia or ‘Imani’.” Khloé spat bluntly. 

Nia paused before letting out an obnoxious laugh, grabbing her stomach as if what Khloé had said was the joke of the day. 

“Oh girl you need to lighten up, I was just playing a little joke on him that’s all.” Nia rolled her eyes. “I mean he’s gonna be family eventually, he’ll get used to my humor.” 

Kandace looked back and forth between the two women as she could obviously sense her sister's irritation. Nia was exactly who Khloé said she was, a sneaky bitch. However Kandace, being almost 10 years older than the two girls, never witnessed any of Nia’s conniving ways. But Kandace also wasn’t that damn stupid. 

“You introduced yourself to him as Imani?” Kandace questioned. “Nobody calls you that.” She chuckled at the thought of it. 

“Well maybe I want to start being addressed as Imani, is that a problem for y’all?” Nia shot back in defense before turning her attention to the window. 

Kandace looked over at Khloé who was burning a hole into the back of Nia’s head. 

“Doesn’t matter anyways, he won’t be here long.” Nia mumbled to herself. 

“What was that?” Khloé asked, leaning her body forward so that she could hear Nia a bit clearer. 

“I’m going downstairs to get some food.” Nia headed toward the bedroom door. “It was really good seeing you Kandy girl and you too… Khlo.” 

Nia exited the room and Khloé immediately shot up from her seat. She paced around the room as she tried calming herself down, looking at her sister with wide eyes. 

“I told you that bitch was trifling but nobody wants to listen to Khloé, the spoiled brat who thinks everybody’s out to get her.” Khloé said, walking back and forth. 

“She was usually a sweetheart around everyone else, I thought you were just jealous of the attention she got.” That last part earned her a dirty look from Khloé. “My bad, you were right I guess.” Kandace admitted, throwing her hands up in defeat. 

“Fuck her though, the real problem I’m having is this Summer girl.” 

“I’m listening.” 

Khloé vented to her sister, telling her all about how she found out about Summer. She told her who Summer was to Terry and how even though she knew nothing was going on between the two of them, she still wanted her out of the picture. 

“You’re sounding a bit insecure Khloé.” Kandace had to admit it. 

“I know but I don’t care. I want him all to myself!” 

Kandace leaned back in shock at the words she just heard from her sister. “Wait, you actually like this guy and if that’s the case, why do you need to pay him?” Kandace whispered, keeping in mind that anyone could enter the room at any moment. 

“At first it was just supposed to be sex, nothing serious.” Kandace already knew about her sister's sexual desires, this revelation was nothing new to her. “But then after a few glasses of wine we started talking and I told him things I hadn’t shared with anyone but you.” Khloé walked over to sit next to her sister on the full size bed. 

“He was so interested to hear what I had to say, he was so patient with me. I talked his ear off for hours, he never interrupted me one time. I just feel so comfortable with him. Even my sexual appetite doesn’t bother him.” Khloé kept her voice low and looked over at her sister. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone like him again. I don’t know if this will last for a long time but I want it for right now, while it feels good.” 

“Well do you think maybe it’s because he’s getting paid to do those things?” Kandace had to keep her sister grounding in reality. 

“He kept asking to hear more though. Every time I apologized for rambling too much, he’d remind me that I didn’t have to.” Khloé stated. “The deal was to attend things with me and sex whenever and however I choose.” 

“But he’s been doing way more than that.” Kandace added, finished her thought for her. 

Khloé nodded. “And with Summer always grabbing his attention, I’m afraid that once this is all over, it’ll be over permanently.” 

Kandace sighed loudly. “So this Summer girl is your only problem?”

“Yes.” 

“Then get rid of her.” The infamous deep voice spoke from the doorway. 

Khloé and Kandace looked up to see Mrs. MacArthur standing there, her fingers interlocked resting at her waist. She stood there with a sharp brow raised high. Khloé was silently praying her mother hadn’t heard their entire conversation. From the look of her face, it didn’t seem as if she had. 

“If this woman is causing a riff in your relationship with Terrance, get rid of her.” Mrs. MacArthur stepped into the room, slowly making her way to the chair that sat in the far corner. “It’s the same woman who called his phone earlier right?” 

Khloé stared at her mom, wondering how in the hell she knew that. Always under her constant observation but never actually being acknowledged in totality. 

“You want her gone, do it yourself.”

“She’s a good friend to him, I can’t just ruin their friendship.” Khloé responded. 

“Then you will lose him to someone less deserving.” Mrs. MacArthur uttered those words. Those same words that haunted her every time she was next to Terry. 

“That’s ridiculous.” Kandace scoffed. 

“Do you love him?” Her mother asked, ignoring Kandace’s remark. 

“No but I do like him a lot.” 

“And do you think you’ll ever get the chance to love him if this friend is always in the picture?” 

Khloé sat silently. She didn’t know what to do. She was completely aware of her own inner turmoil and didn’t want it to control her behavior. But would she ever get the chance to love him if she didn’t have his undivided attention? Would he actually even consider being serious with her? 

“I don’t know.” Khloé answered herself and her mother. 

“Get. Rid. Of. Her.” 

“I know you’re not about to sit here and listen to this bullshit advice Khloé.” Kandace finally spoke up, bothered by the things she was hearing. 

“And what do you suggest Kandace?” Mrs. MacArthur asked playfully, not taking her seriously in the slightest. “Should she hop on a plane and go overseas to find love?” 

“You know what-“ 

“Can y’all not do this right now?” Khloé yelled. 

The room fell silent as the three women exchanged looks. Mrs. MacArthur sat unbothered as she eyed Kandace. Kandace stared back at her, not hiding the disdain for her whatsoever. She repeated herself once again hoping Khloé would get the picture and remove all distractions from Terry’s life. 

“Get rid of her.” 

“I’m sure you could teach a masterclass on getting rid of women can’t you?” Kandace spat, never breaking their stare down. 

Mrs. MacArthur cleared her throat and stood from the chair, smoothing her dress down. 

“You’ll thank me later dear.” Those were the last words she offered her daughter before leaving the room to return to her guests downstairs. 

Khloé looked over at Kandace with a look of frustration. 

“Why do y’all hate each other so much?” Khloé asked. 

“I don’t want her ways to take hold of you.” Kandace shot back. “You cannot make the same decisions she makes, take the type of advice she’s giving and expect a happy ending Khloé.” 

Kandace stood from the bed and exited the room, leaving Khloé there with her thoughts. They were racing a mile a minute. Fear, doubt and the possibility of being lonely forever was consuming her, making her head spend in more ways than one. 

It was like the devil was on one shoulder and an angel on the other. One side being her mother, the other being her sister. It felt as if she was being tugged in both directions, she just wanted to stop thinking so much. 

“Your sister said you were up here, is everything okay?” She snapped her head in Terry’s direction. “Your mind has been elsewhere all day, what’s going on?” Terry stepped into the room, stopping a few feet away from her. 

Khloé stared at him as the thoughts slowly began to drift away. He tilted his head slightly, trying hard to read the expression on her face. She just blankly stared at him, not saying anything. Finally given an opportunity to take her mind off of this mess she was creating for herself, she stood and walked past Terry, pushing the bedroom door closed and locking it. 

“Fuck me.” Khloé stated before snatching off her top and walking him backwards until he fell against the bed. 

“In your parents house?” Terry looked up at her, a shocked expression on his face. 

“Yes!” 

The public library was silent, only the sounds of soft keyboards and papers being turned filled the room. Khloé searched around the open floor, desperately looking from aisle to aisle. 

The guests sat faces buried into their laptops and library books. Khloé continued walking up slowly, her black blazer hanging off of her shoulders as she held onto her bag tightly. 

“Hello ma’am, are you looking for something in particular?” The familiar voice spoke from behind her and she slowly turned around to come face to face with her. 

“Summer right?” Khloé asked, a smile spreading across her face. 

“Yeah… wait you’re Terry’s boss.” Summer stated, pointing a knowing finger at her. “Is he okay?” 

“He’s just fine. I actually came to speak with you if that’s okay.” Khloé whispered. 

“Sure, I’m just about to take a break, we can step right outside.” Summer offered, leading the way to the large double doors that sat at the front of the building. 

They both took a seat on the large bench that sat a few feet away from the entrance. Khloé sat one leg crossed over the other as Summer stared at her. 

“So Summer, I’m sure you aren’t aware of this but Terry’s been having a lot on his plate lately.” Khloé lied.

Summer sat quietly unaware of what Khloé was referring to. 

“With him having to take on this new job, losing all of his savings, he came to me looking for help and so I helped him. But one thing led to another and we ended up spending a lot of time together.” 

“Wait, y’all are seeing each other?” Summer asked, frowning at the revelation. 

“Yes.” 

Summer looked down at her feet and then back up at Khloé. 

“It was supposed to be a secret of ours, no one knows. However, it’s just so hard to sit back and watch him stress due to your constant need for his assistance.” Khloé went on. “He’s not going to tell you this because he’s just a sweetheart and he tries to help as much as he can but I’d really appreciate it if you did me a favor and maybe step back from him for a while. I’m sure he’d appreciate it as well.” Khloé placed a soft hand on Summers' forearm. 

“Why would he have you come and tell me that?” Summer tilted her head slightly. “No disrespect to you um…” She trailed off 

“Khloé.” 

“Khloe.” Summer finished the statement. “Terry and I have seen a lot and been through a lot together. He could’ve just come to me himself and again no disrespect to you but I’ve never heard of you. He hasn’t told me anything about you.” Summer added. ��So why should I do you a favor?” 

Khloé smiled softly before delivering the blow. “Who do you think sent you that check in the mail?” 

Summer's face dropped. Khloé smiled to herself, the conversation was going just as she planned. 

“He told me about your situation with your daughter.” Khloé admitted with a remorseful look. “I know that’s tough for you but it’s also taking a toll on him. I know you’re a good friend, he tells me this all the time so I'm sure you’ll understand that he just needs some space from you right now.” 

“He told you about my daughter?” Summer questioned, hurt from hearing that her good friend had revealed a very personal thing to a stranger. Summer was under the impression that Khloé knew about her addictions and her struggle with gaining custody. 

But Khloé was insinuating that he had told her more on purpose. The truth was she didn’t know much about Summer or her daughter, only that they needed help and Terry wanted to help them. But the look on Summers face told Khloé everything she was saying was sinking in exactly how she intended it to. 

“Look Summer, I care about him a lot and I’m sure you do too so the less stress on him the better, yeah?” 

Summer sat silently taking in all of what she had just heard. She stared down at the ground, not bothering to look up at Khloé. It was hard for her to hear that essentially she had been a burden to Terry. He had never made her feel this way but to hear this information coming from Khloé was devastating to her. 

“Yeah I guess so.” She responded, voice low. 

“I’m glad you understand.” Khloé smiled. “It’s just for a little while, until he’s able to clear his mind.” 

Khloé stood and placed her sunglasses on her face. Summer remained seated on the bench, her gaze stuck on the ground. 

“I wish the best for you and your daughter Summer.” Those were the last words Khloé said before strutting away to her car. 

A small wave of guilt washed over her body before quickly dissolving. It wasn’t like she was telling Summer to stop talking to him all together. She just needed more time to secure a real relationship with Terry. Summer would understand this in the future. 

Khloé took her phone out of her purse and dialed the number she had learned by heart within just a few days of having it. 

“Hey you, I was thinking I could do pasta tonight.” She smiled. “A friend of my mothers gifted me a bottle of white wine, I think it’ll pair well for the evening, what do you think?” 

“I think it sounds good.” Terry responded. “I take it you’re not mad at me anymore.” 

“Not at all Mr. Richmond.” 

to be continued… 

[mothiir]

the war hawk

because i need to write some more jagahatai. no cw for this one!

”Stand,” says the Great Khan from his throne, lounging like a true conqueror, safe in the knowledge of his victory. His gur is gigantic, larger than the cathedrals of your city home, and permits a great gathering of people — some his strange white-armoured sons, but mostly humans. They array in a circle around you, with no clear demarcation of rank, and none of the finery that the noble families of your home would display in such a gathering. You get the sense that they are all of one kin, a bond forged in the crucible of war. Perhaps if your own family had set aside its internecine struggles —

No. You cannot think like that. They didn’t. They lost. That is all there is.

You stand with the help of one of your attendants, schooling your face into careful, decorous blankness. You will not dishonour your family by weeping. Women of your family have married for politics for generations — yes, it has been centuries since any of your foremothers were offered up to a warlord in exchange for peace, but it is not your place to bemoan your fate. No: you must be thankful. You must wring gratitude from this misery, because no man found under the stars — or among them — will be charmed by a dour, shivering wretch.

“Yes, my Lord Khan,” you say. “Forgive me — I do not speak your tongue —“

“That is no matter,” he says. “I speak the language of this system well enough.”

Your maid gives you a swift, curious look, which you deliberately ignore — though you share her thoughts. The stories you both heard spoke of barbarian sheep-herders that tore books apart in anger because they could not read them.

“You honour our meagre home with your presence, my Lord,” you say, swooping into another curtsy. The clothing you wear is gorgeous, but highly impractical: a chain mail dress, ornamented with gemstones; a headdress anchored in place with hairpins that bite at your scalp. You wear the tribute, and you are the tribute. Gold, sapphires, precious metals, precious fuels — and livestock. The finest horses, cattle, sheep and poultry that your homeland has.

And you, of course. You who feel that you have more in common with the broodmares and fattened lambs in your entourage than with the crown on your head.

The Great Khan acknowledges your flattery only with the slight incline of his head. His throne is draped in so many furs you cannot see the original shape of it. It looks comfortable. To his left sits three of his sons, clad in their armour, but helmetless. To his right is an elderly man, a hood pulled over his head, so his face is shadowed. An advisor, maybe?

“Your father did not say this when he first met our envoys. We interpreted his broadcast. Sheepfuckers and misfits, he called us,” he says, idly, and your stomach drops into your feet. Instinctively, you pull your handmaids closer to you, grasping their chilly hands with yours.

“My father —“

“And in this letter he sent you with,” the Khan says, unfolding the parchment. It seems tiny in his gigantic hands. “He says that he is but — ‘a worm in the garden of my resplendence’ — he has quite the way with words, does he not? And such a change of heart! A modest man, to say he is but a worm in the garden of a sheepfucker.”

A few of his sons chortle; someone jeers. Your cheeks flame, and you lick your lips before replying.

“My father’s words were misspoken and arrogant.”

“Indeed. And he has learned the error of his ways. As long as he pays his tithes, he and his people will be treated as valued members of the Imperium — and under the protection of the Emperor of Mankind.”

The Great Khan turns back to the parchment, and makes a show of reading further.

“He has some words for you too.”

You swallow thickly. Your mother had been all careful posed dignity when she sent you away; your father had embraced you and wept. His first child; his first girl. His eldest. Sacrificing so much for the sake of her people —

“‘—though she is no great beauty, and is altogether too clever, she is swift to learn, and her mother bore eight children, four of whom were boys, so it is likely that she will likewise be fertile,’” the Khan reads, and something inside you freezes. There are no chuckles now — even if there had been, you would not have heard them over the strange high ringing in your ears. Your fingernails dig into the back of your handmaid’s hand, leaving bloody red crescents; she does not seem to notice; or if she does notice, she does not care. “And if she is not to your liking then rest assured she has sisters, who are fairer and younger and —“

“Don’t you dare!” you shout, without thinking, without considering and — oh by the gods what have you done? And then you remember that these strange men from the stars burn churches and despise worship, and so calling on the gods just makes things worse — and you freeze, heart rabbiting, eyes wide. “I mean, my lord, please — the next-oldest of my sisters is sixteen summers —“

You were born to be a politician — bred to be one — and yet all of your training has been for nothing, for in that moment you are not a diplomat but a sister, white-hot fury pulsing behind your eyes. If you had talons, you’d rip your fathers face from his skull; if you had wings, you’d pull your sisters and handmaids under their span, tuck them safe and secure and hidden. But you have neither: only a clumsy tongue, and rage that stoppers your throat, and grief great enough to drown in. And all the while the Khan watches you, impassive as a hawk; a great predator, with no concern for the mewling of women ��

“Jaghatai,” says the cloaked figure to his right, pulling her hood back. “You’re scaring the girl.”

What you had assumed to be a withered old man is in fact a withered old woman, with nut-brown skin, heavy black hair, and bright eyes glittering in folds of corrugated flesh.

“I am — ah,” says the Great Khan, and then his face relaxes minutely. He smiles — though the gesture does nothing to calm you, directed as it is at the woman. “Apologies.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Khan — apologise to your poor bride! Soldiers! Really!”

She stretches like a cat, her joints clicking, and stands. Three of the astartes hasten to help her down the dais, but she waves them away.

“I can manage just fine on my own, boys,” she says, and hobbles her way down to you. She’s barely up to your shoulder, hunched over with age; her clothes are of fine quality, but thoroughly worn. “Honestly.”

“My lady Hoelun — “ one of the men says, but she points her stick at him.

“Tsubodai, I knew you when you were stumbling around after your father’s goats — when I need your help, I shall ask for it. All of you! Useless!”

Instinctively, you curtesy to her. She chuckles, and catches your chin with one gnarled hand.

“Let’s have a look. All your own teeth, no mutations,” she says, tipping your face this way and that. “Clever, that letter said, and I’ll believe that — every woman we’ve met in this system can read and write, which is a blessing, believe me. Half of my grandsons are still learning. They like their bikes and their ponies, what do they need letters for?”

She pinches your cheek.

“Smart, because you knew how to greet the Great Khan. And reckless brave, because you shouted at him. And —“ She looks down at your hands, which still clutch at your whimpering maids. Her gummy smile widens. “And decent too.”

She turns back to the Great Khan.

“You’ll marry this one, Jaghatai. I’ll make the arrangements for the ceremony in two moons time. Until then, we’ll follow tradition.”

The Great Khan does not seem at all surprised at the display. His smile has deepened, and for the first time he looks more like a man than a hunting bird.

“Very well, Mother,” he says. “If you approve — my lady, you will be granted your own household, and a gur large enough to hold them. You may bring women to attend you from your home planet if you wish — or if you prefer, I can name some from within my own family. A hundred head of horse are yours as of today; for each week until our wedding another hundred shall be added to your herd. You will learn our language and our customs, and you will sit in on my council with my mother —“

“My lord — I am no warrior,” you say, and he holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. But I am no politician. An empire can be conquered from the saddle of a horse, but not ruled from one. You will attend council with my mother and learn from her, so that when we are wed you may pick up the governance of this sector in my absence.”

“But — my father is the governor,” you say, brow furrowed, still feeling like you are stumbling to catch up. Hoelun chuckles.

“For now. But who trusts a man who puffs up his chest only to crawl in the dirt with nary an arrow fired?”

The implication of her words should horrify you. You think of your sisters, and you feel only a hesitant, fragile kindling of hope. Hoelun gives your cheek another affectionate — if slightly painful — squeeze.

“Welcome home,” she says.

[tremsing82]

Lucien was ALSO a Victim in MaF

I was reminiscing about why I hate Mist and Fury the most out of the 5 ACOTAR books and I remembered chapter 47.

Lucien finds Feyre in the night court mountains. After tracking her for months. Lucien is desperately trying to talk to his “kidnapped” friend who he thinks is possibly brainwashed or being mentally controlled by Rhys a known Daemati.

When Feyre left spring court she left Lucien alone to deal with a paranoid Tamlin who is now an angry paranoid Tamlin, and the emotionally manipulative Ianthe who is whispering in Tamlin’s ear while also trying to molest Lucien any chance she can. In ACOTAR Lucien got to know how capable Feyre is, not only in battle but in holding her ground against people she doesn’t agree with. He would watched her stare down Tamlin and get him to bend to her whims. Was she badly affected by her trauma from UTM yes, did Lucien try his best to advocate for her needs to Tamlin he did. But when Feyre left he was left alone to carry the burden of Tamlin and Ianthe. Was Feyre at all mentally stable at the time she left spring, no, but she was there. She would get bursts of anger and stubbornness at times with Tamlin and confront him. And that was reassuring to Lucien. That probably had him know the spitfire is not gone. If she stayed I would not be surprised if Lucien was the one to help her heal mentally and would help Feyre out of the dark abyss that her trauma put her in.

But she didn’t stay and that ok, because she did get better in a way that worked for her, that’s not my problem. My problem is how she treated Lucien that entire chapter. How the narrative was changed to make his actions look like he was an enabler of an abuser. Which is 100% not true and the words of the book prove it. And well when she left no one was helping Lucien either. Because he now had to navigate both Tamlin’s rage and anger and Ianthes manipulations and hands. He worked his ass off on looking for a way to break a bargain. He did everything he could to stop Tamlin from talking to Hybern. Which Tamlin only looked to Hybern because Ianthe was whispering in his ear.

Can you imagine Lucien being in a day court library and hasn’t slept in 24hours and then he suddenly gets an urgent letter from Bron telling him he needs to get back to spring, so he gets back to spring using all his winnowing magic he has to see Tamlin looking over his coastline maps to see the best meeting point with Hybern. His hair all disarrayed from zero sleep and his shirts untucked and he has to lean into Tamlin’s eye sight to get him to listen to his frantic pleas not to work with Hybern. All while Ianthe is on Tamlin’s other side defending Tamlin’s decision. Ugh it’s like being a nail in a hard place.

He needs his friend back. He needs Feyre back. Not to distract Tamlin or to seduce him back to happiness. But because she is the only one who can stand toe to toe with Tamlin and get him to back away. Lucien can’t. Not because he doesn’t try but because there is some submission Lucien naturally has to Tamlin. And Lucien has argued even at risk to his safety with Tamlin and Tamlin unleashed a power that shook the house with Lucien in that powers pathway. It’s 2 against 1 in the house right now and Lucien can only stave off bad decisions for so long.

He was pleading with Feyre on the mountain. His exact words were “you don’t understand the mess we are in. We…I need you home. Now.” So he knows working with Hybern is on the table. He watched his best friend murder spring court soldiers in a rage because of Feyre being “kidnapped”. And he knows Calanmai is coming up in 2-3 days (I think is the timeline) which Tamlin is refusing to perform his duty (understandably). But that means it falls on Lucien and Lucien knows Ianthe is going to manipulate the maiden part of the ceremony to ensure he picks her. He knows he is going home to be sexual assaulted. He wants his friend to come home and help him put things back in order.

Granted is that Feyre’s duty no, but he is desperate to have help in spring. And at this time he thinks she is a victim of a kidnapping and of Rhys’ Daemati powers.

Shortly after he leaves is when he agrees with Tamlin in talking with Hybern and personally I think he was so down trotted and worn down that he just stop fighting Tamlin on it. Plus he performed Calanmai, the Magic chose Ianthe, he had to sleep with a woman who refuses to accept boundaries. He was sexually assaulted and feeling sick and upset and depressed and Ianthe probably had Tamlin go and ask Lucien if they can look towards Hybern now because Lucien is not in any good mental space to put up an objection. Ianthe wore Lucien down till he just had no more energy to stop Tamlin. He was exhausted mentally, and physically, and emotionally and that all worked in Ianthe’s favor and Lucien is still paying the guilty price for it. And sadly when you think about it, all he wanted was his friend back. And if Feyre or Rhys were just a tad bit smarter maybe they would have looked into his mind to see exactly why he needed Feyre home. But of course Rhys made it out like being in Lucien’s mind is a torture no one should ever be subjected to. Because god help us if you actually used your powers in a useful manner.

[sunnie-angel]

Part 13: The Coworker

part 12 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a strange holding pattern develops where nothing really happens and all you can do is bury yourself in work while jason keeps hiding things from you

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: more of a set up chapter before the next big plotty thing happens. umm don't throw tomatoes at me?

Jason Todd is lying to you. Or at the very least he’s keeping things – important things – from you. Knowing that, being unable to close your eyes and turn the other way anymore, it fractures you a little more in ways you had thought you were long past. Still, stupidly, you love him. You keep waiting for the day when it gets easier to breath and your stomach stops swooping anytime Jason Todd is in sight. Hope rises and falls. His kindness mixed with cruelty burns but you can’t stop drinking it down as though you’ve been days in the desert.

In some ways, not being around Jason and the friends you share is easier, not having to wonder with every stilted interaction what there is left to hold you together. Much easier then, to bury yourself in work, in school. Lose yourself to distractions until the fear and paranoia dogging your every step fade into the background with the hum of routine and the mindless chattering of people who don’t know you well enough to hurt you with their well meaning questions.

It feels silly to plan for your future when it might very well come to an end in an alley, but the thought of a next month, a next year, a next moment keeps you clinging to sanity like a life preserver. So you put your head down and work, fingers crossed that all your effort will pay off with the summer research position currently being dangled over the heads of all the English department interns. A stepping stone, maybe, to being able to work your way through grad school that certainly no one else but you and your student loan from Gotham Trust will be paying for. For 15 hours a week you can tune out the present, get lost in the daydreams and the work of building that future which rests just hazily out of your reach, beyond the taint of murderers creeping in the dark and a love that seeps like poison.

Something close to regret always passes over you when the work day ends and Jason stands at the door waiting for you. Maybe even something ugly, a twisted up anger, jagged and sharp, that buries itself under your breastbone. Your life is held together with duct tape and sticky glue, balanced precariously on one wobbly leg, but no matter what happens to you, Jason will be fine as always. In a few months he’ll have his degree and a family that apparently doesn’t hate him as much as he’s implied and he’ll go swanning back off to wherever the fuck he mysteriously appeared from. After graduation, who’s to say that you’ll stay friends at all? That he won’t move on with his life and maybe, occasionally, he’ll think fondly of the girl he was friends with for less than a year while he’s off saving the world, saving the Alley, from yet another idiot villain. The future is yours, shining and pristine, but yours alone. A shining knife that’s lodged itself in your chest and twists in anticipation of the moment when he’ll let you go.

You don’t let any of those thoughts show on your face though. Don’t want to ruin any of the dwindling moments you have left and so you bury it down inside, pack the soil down on top hard and cross your fingers that it won’t grow any poisonous fruit.

The first time you stay late, you’re apologetic when you ask Jason to come back in a few hours but there’s none of the usual claustrophobic sensation. Jaimie had asked for help and you had volunteered to give it to her, any excuse not to go home and sit in your tiny apartment and flinch at the wind outside. It’s the first time you stay late but not the last.

Really you had never intended to be so distant from the other research interns but when all the seniors are competing really for the same opportunity, one that would make or break your future plans, it’s not hard to see everyone else as competition. People to be polite and helpful to, but not people to get close to in the eventuality that they break your heart by getting the position or you break theirs. But in searching for more and more reasons to stay distracted, to prolong the moment just before you see Jason again, before you fall into his arms again begging for scraps, it’s hard not to get to know them better.

There’s sweet Jaimie with her bottle thick glasses who only started this semester, Amira with her nearly magical knowledge of the library’s cataloguing systems, and Louisa whose German accent only comes through when she gets annoyed. Stoic Miguel that never really says much but doesn’t have to in order to get his point across and Ian whose charm has even crabby Dr. Duvall smiling broadly. They’re friends, all of them, or at least on friendly terms. It’s hard not to thaw towards them when suddenly you’re making a point to spend so much time with them.

Probably, you should be on your guard. Probably, you should listen to the paranoia whispering at the back of your mind about strangers and hidden motives. But with all the lights turned on in the tucked away office for interns, the space heater warming the old bricks and mild laughter and offers of help freely given, it feels safe in a way. That this space makes them safe even if you couldn’t name their birthdays at gunpoint (you really hope you’ll never have to do that). Here you can leave all of your messy emotions at the door, all the bagging and sleepless nights forgotten in the face of people that don’t know you.

Three weeks and never once does Jason complain about the hours stretching later and later. He never mentions how your feet seem to trudge slower and slower to him where he waits at the door. How the lightness seems to leave you as you hit the cold night air. Three weeks until his patience hits its limit.

“Seems like you’ve been working more than last semester,” he drops leadingly into conversation one morning as he rolls out of the side of your bed he’s claimed for himself.

“Seems like it,” you reply as you struggle to get your bra hooked on right. He comes up behind and does the clasp for you, hovers like he wants something more he’s not sure he’ll be allowed in the bright light of day.

“I just worry about you, yeah? Don’t want you to work yourself sick with— with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Well don’t,” you tell him, harsh words that drip with your frustration as you dig through your drawers for a sweater. Dannika and Lina have already been on your case about all your overtime hours, not to mention Rei’s quiet concern. “Don’t worry about this, okay” You say more gently, turning back to him as you tug the sweater over your head. “Work’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with—” you gesture expansively “—all of this.” Quickly you register the way his eyes go blank and shuttered. “With the fear, I mean. No time for serial killers when I’m trying to collate lists of possible sources for Dr. Higuchi’s next book.” He nods, and then doesn’t bring it up again. 

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s only you, Amira, and Miguel working. The office is quiet without Jaimie’s constant questions and Ian’s little asides but its a cosy kind of quiet. Slowly the quality of the light changes as the sun creeps below the skyline and eventually you have to admit that there’s nothing more to keep you there for the day. You pack up simultaneously, Amira bumping your elbow with her overstuffed satchel as she swings it onto her shoulder.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t ding you too hard did I?” She apologizes. It was a pretty solid hit, the several hardcovers in her bag as good as bricks but she didn’t mean anything by it and so you don’t take it personally.

“No harm done,” you let her know, shouldering your own bag as you do.

“Any plans for tonight?” Amira asks.

“Just tackling some readings for class, nothing interesting,” you reply with the conspiratorial tiredness that all students have by this time of the year.

“Hmmm okay, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday? Why?” You ask, a tightness to your spine. She’s never asked, none of them have ever asked before. There’s been the usual how was your weekends and have a good nights but never anything this direct.

“Well most of us sneak into the grad student bar on Thursday for their trivia night and you need five people for a team only Louisa’s got that paper due Friday and probably won’t come. So, if you’re free, would you want to join us?”

“I— uhm I’d have to check?” You tell her, suddenly panicked because this wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. Yes, you’d been getting on with your coworkers better but you hadn’t thought that you’d been getting on well enough to be invited to their plans outside of work. And yes, technically a Thursday should be fine, should be safe, no one’s gone missing on a Thursday. But to meet? Outside of the office, outside of the place you’d neatly marked as ‘safe’ with people that you barely know? “When does it— when does it usually end?” You ask instead. “Just with everything going on I usually have a friend—” the word catches in your throat “—walk me home at night.”

“Hmmm like eleven or so?” She cocks her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t even think of that. It’s so scary and I don’t even look like a potential victim.” Amira smiles at you pityingly and you can already feel the sympathy curdling in your stomach. “You know what, why don’t you bring them along? The teams only have to be a minimum of five but they can go all the way up to ten.”

“I’ll see if he’s free but I’ll let you know?” It’s pathetic at how easily just the thought of Jason’s presence makes you breath easier, feel more up to accepting what’s probably a genuine invitation. Amira happily gives you a number to contact and you part ways. Jason’s waiting, like always but it takes you a while to figure out exactly how to phrase your request to take up his time with something so trivial.

“I got invited out by my coworkers today,” you tell him, staring out the bus window as you speak. He’s folded himself into the aisle seat beside you, something you’d snorted about earlier and muttered about a clown car until he’d scowled from swallowing his laughter.

“Do I know any of them?” He asks, grumbling as he tries to find a position kinder to his knees.

“Maybe I introduced you to Jaimie?” You rack your brains thinking back. “Anyway, the point is they invited me to trivia night with them and when I was worried about making you wait for so long to walk me home they invited you too,” you say in a rush.

“When?” He cranes his neck to check the next stop as he asks.

“Thursday, ends around 11.”

He sighs through his nose. “If it was any other day I’d say no problem, yeah? But I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, a thing,” he evades.  The two of you get off at the stop, the bus kicking up dirty slush in its wake.

“You should go, have a good time,” Jason tells you in front of your building. “I’ll make sure to be there at 11 and I’ll still make sure you get home. But you should have some fun, yeah?”

He’s hiding something again, isn’t he?

It’s silly to be so distracted by a maybe but you can’t stop thinking about it. You miss a very obvious trick question on the publication of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, though Ian smiles very kindly when he changes the original date you had written to the date the book was first published under the author’s real name. Even without doing anything at all Jason still manages to knock you off balance. You don’t regret it, coming out with your coworkers, even if the bar starts to get more rowdy as the night goes on. That sense of safety, of oh these people won’t hurt me, isn’t restricted just to the office it would seem. Miguel still doesn’t speak very much but he smiles more and Jaimie is strikingly confident when she isn’t wrestling with spreadsheets. It’s almost, almost enough to distract you from thoughts of Jason by the time the evening is wrapping up.

You’re laughing freely at a sly joke from Amira you wish Dannika was there to hear too when you finally spot him. He’s leaning against the wall outside the building, phone still cupped to his ear when you run up to him, the snow muffling the sound of your foot steps. Even in the low lighting of the bar’s neon sign he still looks beautiful and you’re loath to disturb the moment. He’s just ending the call as you get closer, fat snowflakes catching in your hair.

“...yeah, yeah love you too Barbie.”

Oh.

a/n: on the other line, barbara's threatening to castrate jason for making dick sad

[kingkat12]

enigma (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, sub!Roman, blindfold, handcuffs, riding, handjob, edging, banter, Roman likes tits tihi, name-calling (for a second lol), fluff sort-of?

summary: after Roman became the CEO of Godfrey Industries, he hasn't been able to let off any steam... so it seems he might need some help figuring out how to channel his frustrations

word count: 4,713

a/n: celebrating 600 followers w the return of sub!Roman!!<33 y'all seemed to like can i watch, so see this as a part 2? gif by @godfreysteel!!! THANK YOU, and hope you enjoy;)

Roman Godfrey was a man of many mysteries— many I didn’t want to uncover. Yet the enigma of how to get him to properly unload after work was one I spent many months figuring out.

After work, Roman would usually come home with a lot of pent-up anger he tried not to take out on me. He’d sit with a shake in his leg, he’d huff at the slightest inconveniences, and blow up without warning over small disagreements. He was no longer the man I had known him to be, now too frustrated with the position of CEO his mother had forcefully bestowed upon him to function properly. Still, I knew that the man I had fallen in love with was buried somewhere beneath the rubble of chaos going on in his life.

So I started out simple. 

When Roman would come home, I’d make sure to hurry to the door and hang his jacket up for him. It was a small thing, nothing major, yet a kindness which eased him with the following kiss hello. Now that I had introduced a form of routine, now that he expected something pleasant the minute he got home, there was a new ease in his step. 

Nonetheless, I knew the day would come when that wouldn’t be enough anymore. Roman was still fidgety and frustrated with his dealings with Dr. Pryce at work, so I realized I had to find a new way to have him release the pent-up energy in his body. 

At first, it was easy. When it felt like a surprise, before Roman pieced together that I had an ulterior motive, it could be done with a simple run of my hands through his hair after dinner on the couch. He’d be hard in no time— I could see the way his cock swelled with interest beneath the restrictions of his suit, and the green of his eyes nearly swallowed me before he pounced.

I wondered why I hadn’t used sex as a solution earlier. Why I hadn’t let him take all this energy out on me in bed before. Roman wouldn’t even bother getting out of his suit sometimes, as he was too impatient to get any form of release— and impatient, he was.

His long, slender fingers would twist into the hair on the nape of my neck, holding me in place as he pushed deeper into me, feeling me clench around his cock in a mix of desperation and utter satisfaction. It was perfect, satisfactory for us both, and it was the best bandaid in the world until it one night got to his head. Giving Roman the power to take anything out on me was seemingly not the best way to go, especially after he had avoided doing just that for so long— now I knew the reason why; “Look at you, taking my cock like the pretty little whore you are… All for me, hm? Just— hah, for me?”

My eyes widened; he knew I didn’t like him calling me any names of sorts. Why had he even said that? I managed to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking him off me as he yelped. “Nope. We’re done tonight,” I huffed, getting up from the bed as Roman protested.

“Come on, I didn’t mean that!” He was a panting mess, cock twitching at the denial of hot, wet friction. “It just— fuck, it was a thing I said in the moment, you can’t fault me for that!”

This was the night that it hit me that I had been slaving around to accommodate him… almost to the likes of a whore. I turned to Roman after getting dressed, watching as he sat up in the bed with a frown. The more I looked at him, the more I saw the spoiled, arrogant man that was constantly on the front pages of gossip magazines for bad behaviour with staff and other associates. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,”

Roman sighed, moving closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, mind still fogged up by his arousal. “Come back here, take that shit off… Let me make you feel good, okay?”

I folded my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes— “No. I’m tired of you not being able to regulate your emotions like a grown adult, and I most certainly will not stoop so low as to let you call me names!”

Roman groaned, raising his voice; “I didn’t mean it, for fuck’s sake!” I could see the usual anger blooming in his big, green eyes, and I hated the sight of it. “I don’t think you’re a whore, my mind just turned off, and it slipped! I wouldn’t fucking be with you if you were one, who do you think I am?!”

I was sure Roman didn’t realize he was digging his grave with every new word spilling past his kiss-swollen lips. “Who I think you are…? Who I think you are?” Finally, it was my time to rage; “I think you’re a spoiled, entitled, whiny man! And quite frankly, I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you!”

Roman jaw fell, his hands now clutching the duvets to keep himself calm. “… Go on,”

“Go on?!” I wasn’t sure why. “I don’t care to accommodate your bullshit anymore, okay? If anything, I should be putting you in your fucking place!”

This time, when Roman didn’t say anything, I could feel the switch in the atmosphere. It was as though the air got thicker, harder to inhale— I saw the way Roman’s pupils dilated, the way his ears perked up in intrigue. 

Oh.

Oh.

That night, I allowed Roman to sleep next to me after he pleaded with me to accept his apology. I told him that the next time he said anything like that, I’d bite his dick off.

… That seemed to shut him up.

But as for the enigma? I had cracked it. I had cracked it big time— finally, I knew exactly what he needed, and how to give it to him. 

It wasn't hard to find a moment when Roman was seated in his home office, busy answering a couple of emails. A few kisses here and there, a dirty word in his ear, and he was ready to sit still for me; but not without putting up a fight, of course.

“I know what you think you’re doing,” Roman huffed, not fighting the handcuffs anymore. His compliance finally allowed me to secure his hands behind his back, wrists locked behind his office chair. “You think this is some sort of kink-thing that will work on me like magic, like reverse psychology. But I can tell you right now that this something I’m trying out for you and not for me. So don’t get any weird ideas about me, okay?”

Roman’s innate denial was almost comical. I straightened my back, leaning down to press a short kiss to his neck. “It’s not weird,” I cooed, circling him. “You should’ve just told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you need someone else to take the control once in a while,” I sat down in Roman’s lap, untying his expensive silk tie as I innocently batted my lashes at him. “You just need a little time off, don’t ya?”

His jaw clenched, watching me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t push it,” he mumbled. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, Roman,” I treaded the tie between my fingers, biting back a laugh. “The game is over now, don’t you see? I figured you out!” Pressing a short kiss to his nose, feeling him scoff, I slowly covered his beautiful green eyes with the fabric. I immediately missed them, but I knew it was necessary for his immersion. He was too proud of a man to give in so easily. “Why don’t you just let me take care of you…” I tied the tie, securing the knot before leaning in to whisper into his ear; “… Properly?”

Roman remained silent, too shocked to speak, but his interest was unmistakable— I could feel him hardening beneath me, a tight jolt of his cock bumping into the underside of my thigh. Bingo. 

I angled myself in his lap, slowly grinding my hips up against his bulge; there was a rough breath, almost a groan, as though he was still fighting the idea of completely letting go. “You don’t need to do this,” Roman said, voice unsteady. “You don’t have to.”

It was as though he didn’t trust me not to judge him. “And you don’t need to be so nervous,” I cooed, grinding my hips down against him once more. “Trust me.”

I could see his jaw clenching, but the shaky breath that followed unveiled everything. “I don’t even know what you want to do to me. Don’t get too excited, okay? Don’t do anything crazy,”

It was impossible not to roll my eyes. Roman didn’t see it, anyway. “I’m not doing anything to you, per se,” My fingers trailed down his shirt, unbuttoning the top button. “I just want you to relax and enjoy. Can you do that for me?”

I could see the goosebumps appearing along the exposed skin of his forearms, his shirt bunching up at his biceps. “Sure,” Roman mumbled, attempting not to sound too excited— yet the jump of his cock against my ass gave it all away. 

“I’ve been thinking a long time about how to alleviate your stress…” I got to the end of Roman’s buttons, now trailing my hands up his bare, toned chest. “I thought I needed to let you take it out on me in bed, but I knew that was a misstep the second you got too greedy and called me a whore—“

“Come on!—“

“And that‘s fine,” I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his exposed collarbone. “When I let you run wild, your imagination follows. I should’ve known better than to give you more power… Especially now that I know you crave it taken away from you.”

Roman was starting to become fidgety, his hands fighting the restraints. “Nonsense,” 

“Really?” I straightened up, lolling my head to the side as I watched the man of my life struggle to face his situation. This was the root of all his problems, wasn’t it? I sighed, pressing a short kiss to the soft pillows of his lips— I no longer heard the clanking of the metal handcuffs against the back of the chair. “You got this job sprung on you despite your wishes not to… Bet you wish it could’ve gone to someone else.”

Roman had finally quieted down. I longed to see the look in his eyes, but I didn’t need to in order to know I had hit a home run. “And I’m sorry about that,” I breathed, hooking my hands beneath the edge of my top to wry it off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. “I’m sorry you don’t feel like you can talk about it, but I’m here to make you feel a little better. You’re not the CEO of anything in here, you’re allowed to relax.”

I saw the way Roman’s shoulders slumped, the way his breathing got a little softer. My poor boy. I would’ve felt even more sorry for him if I didn’t feel the way his cock was twitching with excitement at the way I was talking to him. 

I knew I sealed the deal when I sat up in his lap, letting one strap of my bra fall over my shoulder as I brought him closer— it didn’t even take a second before Roman’s lips sealed around my breast with a wanton moan. 

Roman’s tongue circled my bud as I did my best not to let my legs give in to a tremble— I knew this usually drove him crazy. The enigma of men. I held onto the chair, one hand going up into his hair to tug at the tips of his dark locks. Roman let out a soft grunt against my skin, his hips bucking up as his hands instinctively fought the handcuffs. I knew he wanted to grab at my waist, squeeze my ass, knead at my other breast— I knew him too well. The restraints only seemed to make him more desperate.

I pulled away, realizing I was panting as I fixed my bra. Roman threw his head back a little, a small smirk present on his plush lips— “You really know how to get me going, don’t you?”

I shrugged, now trailing my hands down to his restricted cock. “You’re easy like that, Roman,”

He let out a shaky breath, hips keening against the warmth of my hands. “Am not,”

“Yes, you are,”

“Nope,”

“Keep fighting me and I’ll leave you like this,”

That seemed to shut him up. Roman straightened up in his chair, softly clearing his throat as it dawned on him that I was dead serious. “Would you really?”

My God— I didn’t think it was humanly possible for him to get harder right now, but the threat of me leaving him hot and bothered seemed to do it for him. I wondered whether his zipper would split open soon, as the constraint only got tighter. “If you don’t shut up soon, I will,”

“You wouldn’t,” Roman echoed, his voice growing weaker. “… Would you really?”

Seeing him get this excited only did the same to me— I needed to get him out of these pants before it was too late. This was Armani, for fuck’s sake. I placed two fingers against Roman’s mouth, knowing he’d get the memo— with a small huff, he wrapped his lips around my small digits, letting them rest against his warm tongue.

The sight of it sent shivers down my spine. “You talk too much,” I said, my free hand unbuckling his belt and discarding it somewhere next to my top. The second the zipper was rolled down, Roman let out a sigh of relief against my fingers, his head rolling back just a little. 

“If you promise to stop snarking, I’ll take my fingers out. Hum if it’s a yes,”

As expected, Roman did— when my fingers were out, I leaned forward to brush my lips against his, feeling his shaky breath seep out of his lungs. “Kiss me, at least,” he pleaded. “I feel like I’m gonna fucking burst.”

I leaned forward, watching him part his lips on a soundless intake of breath as my gaze darted to his mouth. I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing over the softness of his skin— it was surprising to see how he was responding to it. I hadn’t ever been given the opportunity to lead; had he maybe just been scared to be seen as vulnerable?

“I’ll kiss you in a second,” I breathed, my mind returning to Roman’s aching cock— I watched his breath hitch when I gently tapped the tip of it with my finger, and his head shot to the left as his breathing got heavier. 

My heart was thumping hard in my chest at the sight, and I got the confidence to bring my palm to my mouth, slicking it with spit before I brought it down the length of his cock. Roman let out a breathy hah, pushing up into my fist.

Oh, this was almost sweet— I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, slowly working my fingers around the shaft. “Is this okay?” I asked, pulling away when I sensed his wish to turn back to me. 

Using his senses, Roman somehow managed to find the tip of my nose, nudging it gently with his. “Yeah,” 

I was relieved to know he wasn’t seeing the deep blush creeping up my cheeks. The small drop of pre-cum that had built up on the tip of his cock spilled over, now running down the back of my hand, and it brought me back from my moment of shyness— I had gotten him this worked up. I never thought I’d be able to do that, especially not to Roman. So, with a newfound confidence, I leaned forward to grant him his wish of a kiss. 

As he was still blindfolded, his muscles hitched with caution, yet his cock twitched in my hand at the softness of our reunion. Roman quietly moaned into the kiss, easing up further in my hold as I continued my slow strokes along his thick shaft. 

However, what I didn’t expect, was for his usual instincts to kick in, and I was left with my breath caught in my chest as Roman placed eager kisses down my jaw. I had a feeling he didn’t think I would have control for longer than this— “Rome,” I cooed, tilting my head upwards to give him access as his kisses trailed down my neck. “Give it up.” It was impossible to deny that it felt good, and I was unsure how I was supposed to will myself to stop him. “You’re not in control, Roman.”

He hummed against my skin, the instinctual fight against the handcuffs echoing throughout the room. “But I want you,” he breathed. “I want to see you, want to touch you—“

Fucking hell. I should’ve known Roman would get greedy. So I decided I needed to go to more drastic measures; I unwinded my grip around his cock, getting up from his lap to a string of protests.

It felt as though all my nerves were on fire as I watched him buck up into nothing, panting at the lack of contact; “No,”  he breathed, whimpering. “Come back, I’ll— I’ll sit still, okay?”

“Hmm…” I slowly tapped my foot against the floor, making my frustration audible. “That’s not enough.”

“Come on!” Roman was whinier than ever, throwing his head back as he struggled against his constraints. His mind was fighting the idea of letting go, yet his cock was twitching with immense interest. Silly man— he didn’t want to recognize this wish to surrender. 

… This meant I had to force it. 

I stepped towards him, watching as his breath hitched in anticipation. Now that he was blindfolded, his senses were heightened. “Tell me what you really want, Roman,”

He took a second, brows drawing together. “You know what I want,”

“No, not that,” I placed myself behind him and pressed a kiss to his ear, hearing him whimper as I reached down to wrap my fingers around his cock. “What do you want?” I whispered into his ear, listening to his quiet moans. 

“I want— shit, no, I can’t!—“

“Yes, you can,” I sped up my strokes, and Roman’s lips parted in a mix of confusion and pleasure as his head rested against my shoulder. “Tell me.”

I knew he was close to breaking, I knew I had him exactly where I wanted him; Roman turned to me, almost for comfort, as he whimpered against the crook of my neck. “I just— want a break… from being in charge,” he breathed. “I’m so tired of the fucking— responsibilities—”

My heart swelled as I pressed a kiss to his forehead. This only proved that I had been entirely correct in my deductions. “I know,” I cooed, slowing my strokes to give him time to breathe. “It’s okay to be tired, it’s okay… Just let me take care of you for once, hm? It’s not weak to want… relief.”

“Relief,” Roman echoed, huffing against my skin. “You planning on giving me that tonight?”

I had to bite down on my lip not to laugh, resorting to a scoff. “If you keep snarking? No,”

The denial was surprisingly effective— Roman’s cock twitched in my hand, followed by a sharp, breathy moan, which was the sign he was close. “Something tells me you secretly like being told no,” I teased. “You probably haven’t heard that word much, have you?”

“Shit, maybe— yeah, you’re right,”

“Of course I am,” I ran my free hand through his hair, feeling him panting against the crook of my neck. “Wanna cum?”

“Yeah... Yeah—“

“Well, too bad," I removed my hand; "Not yet,”

Roman’s head rolled forward as he let out a loud groan, hips bucking up into nothing as I moved away from him once more. “Fuck you!” he yelled, fighting his restraints. “Fuck— God!” 

I hadn’t been this entertained since I saw the last episode of Sex and The City for the first time. “I’m gonna be nice and act like you didn’t just cuss me out,” With a smirk I was happy he didn’t see, I sat back down in Roman’s lap as I tapped my fingers against the tip of his cock, watching his breath hitch as his thighs clenched. The droplet of pre-cum connected to my finger like a string of saliva, and I gazed in awe as I toyed with it— he wouldn't let me do this if he wasn't beyond horny, so I seized the moment to explore. “I think you’ve had enough now… don’t you think?”

Roman nodded, his plush lips parting as he tried to steady his breath. “Yeah,”

I never thought I’d like being in control like this. Yet I reveled in it as I wrapped my hand around his slick length again and watched his breath catch in his throat. Roman was so raw, so vulnerable, fucking finally— “What do you want, then?”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, his head tilting back as he fought a string of moans. “Fuck me, just— fuck me.”

“Wait… me fucking you?” I had to rub it in, I couldn’t help myself. Thankfully, Roman didn’t see the evil grin that spread across my lips. He had taunted me like this many times before, anyway. “That’s unheard of in the Godfrey vocabulary.” 

Roman would’ve gnarled back more insults if he wasn’t so damn horny— “Don’t make me say please,”

“Well… That was never the plan,” I shifted, pulling my underwear to the side as I raised my hips, letting the tip of his cock slowly brush against my sex— I hadn’t expected to be this wet, actually. Neither did I expect the broken moan that escaped Roman, whose hands were fighting the handcuffs in a flash of instinct. “I know that making you say please would make you want to kill me after we're done here, so I’m not gonna do that… I’m just trying to take care of you, remember?”

It was only when I sunk down on Roman’s thick length, draping my arms around his neck, that I heard a weak little yeah from him. I knew he was long, long gone now. Doing my best not to shudder, I pressed a loving kiss to his cheek; “Are you finally gonna— hah, let me do that?” 

Roman nodded, turning, his lips now placed parted against my jaw; “Yeah,”

The few times I had been on top didn't compare to this time at all. There was something so thrilling about slowly sliding up and down the length of Roman's cock, feeling his choppy heaves of air against my skin as he fought the primal thrust, pound, fuck. It was exhilarating to hear his need for me when I ran my fingers through his hair, the small whimpers falling off the tip of his tongue.

Blindfolded, with no possibility to touch, feel, hold me— I knew this was driving Roman absolutely nuts. Still, he was yielding, surrendering to his deepest, darkest wish to finally, fucking finally, have no control in the world. At long last, he had no other task than to sit still, enjoy, and feel good. With a sigh of relief, Roman's lips found mine with the utmost gentle touch that made me clench around his cock, which coaxed out the most delirious moan from him. 

His mind was so, so gone, his senses on absolute fire when I pulled my hips up along his cock, keeping just the tip in me. Roman groaned as his hips jerked forward, giving up the fight against his instincts. "Shit—You tease!" 

"Really, now?" It was no longer possible to keep my voice steady, too drowned in the pleasure. "You do this to me all the fucking time, Rome. Call it karma."

Roman whimpered— "Sorry,"

That was almost too sweet to ignore. I fought my wish to coo at him, to cup his face and pepper it with kisses, and instead opted to stroke my fingers through his hair and shortly kiss his lips. "No need," I whispered, pulling away to watch his breath hitch when I slid back down his length, the thickness of his cock filling me up once more.

"Fuck— Fuck!" Roman was so close, I could feel it. 

Who would've thought this would be the thing to break the great Roman Godfrey?

His jaw was tight, and the sound that escaped his chest was somewhere between a moan and a sob— I would've been worried, had he not been smiling. Roman's head tilted back, his body now relaxing, giving in to the pleasure as I enveloped him to the hilt with a small breath. I leaned forward, putting my hands on his chest for support; I fucking loved this. Because finally, I understood him better— Roman's hunger for power was made clearer to me than ever before, and the all-taking high of being able to do something like this to another person corrupted my mind as well. 

Like this, I could drag him into me, squeeze him tight around my walls when I slowed my pace, and simplest of all— I could choose when to kiss him. And Roman wouldn't dare to deny me now, with how he was desperately chasing his high.

"Thank you," was all he managed to say, smiling against my lips in complete and utter ecstasy. Something told me he was grateful I had staged a coup of dominance. "I needed— needed this, thank you, thank you, I— shit, shit!" Roman buried his face in the crook of my neck, the soft fabric of the tie around his eyes pressing against my skin as he let out a loud cry, spilling into me with a small shudder. 

Roman's cum was warm as always, and it felt like a consolation prize for all the bullshit I had taken from him these past weeks; it slowly seeped out of me as he tried to catch his breath. 

I brought my fingers to the nape of his neck, gently twisting his hair in my fist, knowing he liked a little sharp twinge of something to bring him back from a climax that strong. "You did good," I cooed, stilling my hips as I softly kissed the shell of his ear. "Good job, Rome."

And with that, Roman sunk into the chair, no longer fighting his restraints or the blindfold— he let his shoulders slump as he let out a sigh of true relief, a feeling he had been chasing since the day he got his new job as the CEO of Godfrey Industries. "If you ever speak a word of this... to anyone," he breathed, struggling to talk through the quiet heaves of air. "I'll have your head on a spike."

I rolled my eyes; "... Lovely," Who the fuck would I ever tell this to? Silly, silly man.

I couldn't help but laugh as I brought my hands forth, untying the tie around Roman's eyes. It slowly fell over his nose, and the hard glare I had expected from his green eyes wasn't there— instead, there was a look of pure and utter admiration. I had a feeling his heart was swelling at the thought of finally having met someone who dared to go against him like this. "But if you don't tell anyone..." Roman practically blushed; a sight I hadn't seen before. "We could... do this again sometime?"

I leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose, holding back a grin of victory. "So you liked it?"

"... Don't push it,"

"Say it, or I'll tell the whole world,"

"Yeah, right!"

"... I bet the newspapers are dying to know the fact that Mr. Roman Godfrey likes to be bound and fucked—"

A loud groan followed from Roman; "Fine!"

"Fine, what?" This was too much fun. 

"Fine, I liked it! A lot!"

I grinned, slowly inching off his softening length. "There you go," I cooed, watching the blush on Roman's cheeks deepen. 

"You're gonna be the death of me," he grumbled, trying not to let his breath hitch. "Now, get me out of these fucking handcuffs so I can get you off too."

Finally, Roman wasn't an enigma any longer, having made himself and his intentions clearer than the bright rays of the moon... and who was I to say no to such an offer? 

"As you wish,"

[spicedwatermel0n]

Young adult designs

Finally redesigned them!!! I wasn't really comfortable with keeping my late teen designs and young adult designs looking mostly the same aside from a few minor details so this is to fix that!! I've said I was gonna do this for a while lmfao... Anyways this look will span from 21 to 30 in which they undergo changes that I may not post rn? Adult and early teens are both sort of untouched designs. I have the looks in mind, but they're not really heavy on plot so... They haven't been drawn out. But I will post middle aged designs!! Now for obligatory "what are they like"

Nigel: looks pretty dead beat. He lost his arm in a mission for the KND some time ago. He's difficult to find, as he doesn't really... Live anywhere. If you need him, just wish for him. He'll probably arrive... Or not, because he's not a mind reader. He's starting to get into minor conflicts with the police. No one knows anything more about him, and that's probably his goal.

Hoagie: went cold turkey on EVERYTHING when he got his apartment. He's too busy fooling around with Wally or working to do anything bad to himself... He works a pretty rough 7-5 at a store where he does whatever they ask him to. Stock shelves, mop the floors, deal with customers... But it keeps a roof over his head, so he does it. He tends to wear a basic company uniform to work, that he absolutely DESPISES. Once he's home, he usually gets into something feminine. His job sometimes requires him to work extra hours or stay a bit longer to finish something. He holds internal anger for it, because he just wants to get home and smother Wally with love, but he does it because he DOES get paid for overtime. That's the least he could ask for, really.

Kuki: working a 9-5. She plans on getting to college to become a lawyer at some point. No one knows what exactly her job is. It's not her fault, she just doesn't care for it enough to remember. She got top surgery at 22 after working her ass off for the money she'd need. Don't tell anyone, but Hoagie helped a little. Also, she has her own apartment, too. It's really fancy and decked out, but she lives alone. She likes it that way. After years of living with her parents, she needs alone time all the time, unless she actively decides to invite someone over.

Wally: also went cold turkey on everything when he moved into the apartment. He's taking college classes at UVA to become a pediatrician. It's not quite Harvard, but it's damn near close. He's actually pretty dedicated to it. ADHD medication is the sole reason he can be so dedicated. He tends to wear somewhat feminine attire, as he's learning to understand that he doesn't have to conform to how society believes the genders should dress, and isn't any less of a boy just because he wants to wear feminine clothing.

Abby: going to an unknown college for her therapist degree. She doesn't tell anyone because she worries they may show up there to bother her, or something along those lines. She's often very busy studying, and if she isn't, she's doing volunteer work. She lives with her parents still. Chronically tired, just like, a little bit more than before. She has stopped caring about what she wears and just puts on whatever the hell works. She visits Kuki whenever she needs socialization or love.

Additional piece: the layout of Hoagie and Wally's apartment. This was for my own reference but I'd figure I'd post it

[baldudiable]

random astrology observations ☆

pisces or 12th house suns often have a hard time knowing who they are. these placements often look at other sources to discover the true nature of their being. they end up adopting the same habits or interests as people they admire because they don’t know where theirs lie. pisces & the 12th house are associated with neptune, the planet that dissolves everything it touches. the sun is the ego, or what you believe you are. when these energies collide, it’s hard knowing who you are and what you want to do with your life. this can be both a blessing and a curse; it makes you open to all kinds of experiences, and allows you to be freed from the need to control outcomes. but it can also lead you to lose yourself and waste time that you could've applied to certain aspirations, and ending up not accomplishing anything worthwhile. if you have any of these placements, it's important that you do some soul searching and find out what it is that you want to do & become.

gemini is ruled by mercury, planet of knowledge and communication. leo is the sun, constantly showering the world with its light. natives with both of these placements in their charts love talking about themselves & their interests. leo is fixed, meaning it’s more likely to go deep into their interests than mutable & unstable gemini. combine the two and you get an expert in any kind of medium. these guys are real yappers though; once they are comfortable and start talking, it's near impossible to get them to stop.

it is true what they say about leo venus. these people love showering their love interest with affection and admiration. they will let the whole world know about how they feel for them. their lovers are an extension of themselves in a way, which makes them super proud and showy. what is also true is that they expect the same in return. like libra venus, they love being in love. so much so that they stay in unhealthy and unsatisfying dynamics because they need to feel love for someone, and desperately want that love given back to them.

pisces placements are very clumsy. it’s a water and neptune-ruled sign, which makes them ungrounded and kinda foggy in a way. obstacles seem to just appear out of nowhere for these placements. they are always bumping into walls or people, holding things too lightly and consequently dropping them. aries placements are pretty destructive in that sense too. they are always breaking things without intending to. which makes sense since they are ruled by mars, the great warrior. 

aries men enjoy partaking in physical fights or at least watching other people fight. many men with this placement enjoy sports like MMA or wrestling. either they are actively engaged in their practice or are very interested in them. aries is martian, which gives these people a kind of violence to them. fighting or watching other people fight helps them release the destructive anger they feel inside. 

virgo suns are surprisingly forgetful. since they’re given this collected and organized stereotype in astrology, you’d expect them to always remember about important things. but these people always seem to lose their belongings, not answer their texts and forget about their loved ones' birthdays. they are so focused on their work or responsibilities that they end up forgetting about the things that actually matter. 

libra placements are actually very self-centered. yes, libra is the sign of relationships. yes, it is about balance. but it’s on the same polarity as aries, which means that they share similarities. they have the potential to be as self-obsessed and selfish as their counterpart. in this lifetime, they are learning what it means to cooperate and include others in their life. likewise, aries placements can be relationship-oriented and generous with their possessions. their purpose involves learning to share the self without sacrificing it in the favor of others.

scorpio mars' anger can be explosive and honestly, quite surprising. these natives usually keep it under wraps for long until it's just too powerful for them to contain. as they grow, they learn to tame their anger, as they know how destructive it can be. they also hate not having control over their emotions. unlike aries mars, scorpio mars believes that getting involved in fighting means that you have lost power over yourself and handed it over to the other person. 

taurus mars embodies the lazy stereotype more than any other taurus placement. mars is energy. taurus is slow and enjoys comfort most of all. this detrimental mars doesn't like having to do things that require any physical effort. good luck trying to rush them or get them to go somewhere far. they might give in eventually, but you can be sure that they will complain the whole time about it.

lack of earth in a chart makes it difficult for you to orient yourself. even if you've been to a certain place countless times, it's still hard for you to know which directions you have to take to go there.

[merv606]

Any thoughts on Terry being truly scared that he could have lost Daniel (supposing that Daniel was stabbed instead) and he goes to the hospital while Daniel recovers. Danny is surprised at how…soft and gentle Terry is with him, treating him like glass, and realizes that Terry was terrified of losing him.

I’ll try to answer this without having the fill by @thereminwriting influence me too much but I am going to take the idea of Terry being the one who saved him because it adds another layer of 🌶️ to the whole fucked up situation. There may be some overlap with Mercy but, with Silverusso there always is, as the themes with them are always the same.

Link below for her take - a suggestion to read it as it’s brilliant! It will live rent free.

What this ask inspired, while I feel hits some points made in the ask it may ultimately fail to hit the mark for exactly what you were looking for.

“You think you’d be grateful, is all,” Terry says, picking at some imaginary lint on the bed, which is not there. They both know that. The place is pristine, more high end hotel than hospital. The thread count on the bedsheets has to be higher than what he has at home, and he is an admitted snob when it comes to his night time comforts.

“Gratitude?” Daniel says slowly, like he’s both processing what Terry said and also surprised he’d even say it.

If it wasn’t for the dull ache in his side, the way he can feel the stitches and staples pull when he moves he’d do something stupid. As it were though.

“Gratitude, gratitude,” his voice rising, and then suddenly Daniel just deflates, that little bit of anger burning through the little energy he has built up.

That scared Terry more than anything. His boy’s fire was always so bright, so warm to bask in, so strong and big, despite the small frame it lived inside. That was why it came out so often, too big for it’s confines, never truly able to be contained at all times.

A fire that drew Terry to it like a moth to a flame, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it’s seductive allure. Helpless in the knowledge that like the moth stunned and destroyed by the light it sought, he too would die by it’s heat.

He could’ve think of a better way to go though.

Softly, “it’s just another cage, Terry.”

“Never pegged you as the religious type,” Terry says after a few long moments.

He’s not, not really. He goes through the rituals of it - mass on Christmas Eve - stopping only when his kids got older and Amanda admitted she was only going for him, and he had to admit he really didn’t know why he did, except that he did when he was a kid.

Daniel looks at the keychain’s pendant in his hand, the keychain having been ripped off and stretched to pick the lock of the cage, and he hadn’t even realized, at the time when he bought it what it was, he had simply handed the kid over some money.

He only kept it because he considered it a lucky charm of sorts considering, what it saved him from - that belief was cemented by the fact it was in the pockets of the leggings he wore under his GI when this happened.

A coincidence, he’s sure, but still, he thinks he needs all the help he can get. He’s probably in the most danger right now, after all.

It had been placed on the bedside table, and it was one of the first things he saw when he woke, and when he groggily reached for it, Terry had stilled him, telling him not to move, placing it the palm of his hand.

Here now, he turns it over in his hand.

Even you can’t save me now, Daniel thinks.

Sitting in a hospital paid for by Terry - his life forfeit it wasn’t for Terry.

His life forfeit all the same.

All the same.

More like delayed, all things considered.

Because now he owes Terry.

He owes Terry a debt he cannot possibly repay.

He wonders how Terry will try to collect; what he stands to gain.

“I must say, I was surprised to learn of your skills.”

“I’m from jersey,” Daniel answers absently. “Of course I know how to pick locks.”

Terry chuckles but then the doctor comes in and like always, Daniel is not made privy to the decisions. Everything in Terry’s hands which, as much as he hates that, they have proved to be quite capable.

He’s alive because of them.

——————————

When a few weeks have passed, he finally gathers the courage to watch the video, and for the first time he sees Terry, how he was saved, how calm Terry was, how efficient, how …. Not what Daniel expected.

He doesn’t know what to feel, not only about watching himself get hurt but about Terry. The feed had cut rather quickly all the same. He doesn’t know why, but he hits replay.

Terry comes in, and freezes, grabbing the tablet from Daniel, shattering it against the wall. A nurse rushes in, and Terry barks something to her as he strides out, and after she cleans the mess, she injects something into his IV bag. He doesn’t bother asking, they never tell him.

Terry finally reappears as the drugs settle through him. Daniel can feel them as they move through his blood, dulling everything further, the pain never truly gone, leaving behind heavy limbs and bad coordination, but a sense of peace even as he feels the bed dip and Terry’s side press flush to his. Daniel goes slack against the older man, his weight fully pressed against him until Terry is the very thing holding him up.

Terry puts Daniel’s hand in his, the only apology he’ll get for the outburst, the thumb rubbing the skin.

“My team will have it removed,” Terry explains, like they do anytime a new one pops up, and although Terry knows he can’t get rid of it entirely, it helps. Having something he can control.

Daniel, after all, makes him feel so out of control.

Daniel, after all, had never made him feel so scared.

All the blood that was already arising the Matt by the time Terry got to him, and it had only taken moments.

The knife - Kreese’s knife - embedded deep - and the white of Daniel’s skin as more blood appeared, watching life drain out of him right before his eyes.

Something that only hit Terry after. Terry only allowing it to hit him after, needing to, in that moment, focus on saving Daniel.

Not willing to accept anything else.

You can lose something you never really had.

But Daniel will be now. Something he has. Finally. And Terry will be damned if he’ll lose it.

———————————

“I can’t believe you put me in a dog cage,” Daniel grumbles as he eats his steak and buttered lobster.

Well he can, but a part of him can’t - won’t - examine it too closely. The same coping mechanism he’s been using when it comes to Terry for thirty years now. It mostly proves successful,

“Danny,” he starts.

“Thought that would, what? Make me submit? Like before.”

A deep sigh, and really Terry has no right sound that put upon.

He wasn’t the one locked in a dog cage.

“Of course you would see it like that.” Both exasperated yet fond.

“How should I see it?!”

At first you would think humiliation, and Terry’s attempt to install fear in Daniel - the same fear Terry felt but, that wasn’t it - not at all.

Nothing could be further for the truth.

It was protection.

Cages keep things in, but they also keep them out.

They keep things safe.

They keep them from leaving.

He actually hadn’t wanted Daniel to wake up until reaching the desired destination.

“I fear cages,” Terry starts but stops, not sure what to say, off kilter in a way only Daniel manages to do to him.

“Why do you fear cages?”

The story pours out, and Daniel sits, stunned.

He had no idea. At all.

Terry’s loyalty to Kreese makes so much sense now. As does their falling out. Which has hardened into hate since the accident.

Part of Terry blames Kreese.

It was his knife after all.

“He always tries to destroy the good things in my life.”

It not only makes sense but Daniel realizes, with a clarity he wouldn’t before, as he too carries that same burden now. Carries the same mixed feelings about being indebted to someone you do not wish to be indebted to.

An understanding, a part of him connected to Terry.

A part of himself that will never belong to him again.

———————————-

He protested in the beginning, Terry helping him change, but now he doesn’t; there would be no point.

He winces, the scar twisting, so new it’s still more deep purple, the skin too tight from where he was sewed and stitched back together.

Terry frowns, his hand touching it, and Daniel flinches; he can’t help it. Even he doesn’t even like touching it himself

It feels wrong - foreign. It feels like a change he didn’t want but will have no choice but to accept.

Isn’t that Terry whoever he comes into Daniel’s life.

It feels like the situation he finds himself in.

It looks ugly, even if he knows in time it will fade to pink and then further still until it’s faded to the point that it nearly matches his skin

He knows he should be grateful to be alive, to be here, even if here is with Terry.

He knows all of this but still, he will carry a piece of this always.

He carrie enough of Terry around with him - he has for thirty years.

The older man’s fingers are so damm gentle as they trace the new skin forming, solidifying into something permanent.

Everything about Terry has been so damm gentle.

All his touches, all the looks directed at Daniel, even when Terry thinks Daniel isn’t paying attention.

Terry helps him into his shirt.

————————————-

“Why?” Daniel asks when he finally gathers the courage. The thing that took him the longest to do.

“I wasn’t about to let you die, Daniel,” Terry nearly scoffs. “I’m not that much of ….”

“I know,” Daniel interrupts.

And he does. Truly. Terry is a Bond villain, and like all Bond villains, he lives to monologue and come up with elaborate plots, plots he knows, deep down, won’t work.

Just like they know Bond will walk away each time, that they want him to, so does Terry.

Because If you really want someone gone, it’s not hard. Simple is best.

If you truly want to win, that is.

But the winning isn’t the point. The end isn’t the point, because it’s not even a journey.

It’s a game, and it’s the fun in playing the game.

But when you take out the opponent, and you win the game, oh how you stop having fun.

Because the opponent was what you actually wanted all along, this game, was the only way to get that.

Something almost ruined this ages old ritual, something the villain hadn’t planned himself, hadn’t even accounted for.

“Why all this?” Daniel gestures around. It certainly is above and beyond. Putting aside the part Daniel can never hope to possibly repay, can’t even begin to, the money alone Terry has spent is astronomical, and shows no signs of stopping. The money Terry has assured Daniel he does not want, nor does he seem to even care about.

They stare at each other.

“I think you know,” is all Terry says, and it’s not cryptic, not at all.

Because Daniel thinks he does too.

Daniel thinks, he always did.

—————-

The plastic surgeon is flown in.

Daniel is fine with the scar.

It’s Terry that hates it.

It reminds him of too much.

The overwhelming fear in the days after, the unbridled anger at it even happening. Something Terry has been felt before.

How he had failed.

How he had almost lost something, that while never was his, was something he had never wanted more.

How he would have lost everything all the same, had Daniel not pulled through.

No.

No part of his boy is to be reminded of this.

No part of him will be marked by any man but Terry.

If his body is to change now, to open and accept anything inside, to be split open, to bleed, it will be by Terry’s doing.

And it will be by pleasure and not pain.

——————————————

The night he wakes to Terry sitting in the side of the hospital bed, everything dark expect for the light of the moon filtering in through the near floor to ceiling windows, is the night he really sees.

The older man’s back is to him, and although everything is silent, eerily so, he can tell Terry is crying.

Daniel sits up, hand holding onto his side, where he thinks it will always twinge slightly, although it’s more a habit now than a need, and the fact that Terry doesn’t turn to him, doesn’t hone in on the fact he’s awake and moving adds to the wrongness of this whole thing.

He gently and slowly lays a hand on the older man’s shoulder, not wanting to spoke him, he’s clearly out of it, and in an even softer tone, the ones he’d use on his kids when they were younger and upset, he asked, “Terry?”

Daniel expects the older man to get up, leave, but instead a large hand comes up and covers him.

They say nothing, but then Terry’s hand squeezes his, and in a broken voice finally speaks.

“I could have lost you.”

Terry made a mistake.

A mistake he can’t fix. - not now. Because he’s in too deep, because he loves Daniel.

And this, this was never the plan, all those years ago. To fall for the boy …. to fall again for the man the boy became.

Because when you love something, you now have something that can destroy you.

Destroy you without even meaning too.

Daniel would have destroyed him, without even trying.

Destroyed Terry in away that he would not have been able to rebuild himself from.

Even a phoenix eventually loses its will to rise again.

A world with Daniel is not one Terry wishes to be in. He tried, for thirty years, and it was no life at all. It certainly wasn’t living.

He got it back though, that feeling of being alive, but oh, what he traded for it. Because now he has this fear, heavy on his chest.

This fear of losing something you cannot replace.

When he looks down, sometimes he can still see the blood on his hands.

“You didn’t though.”

Daniel kneels, his chest to Terry’s back, his head on his shoulder, thin arms wrapped around the older man.

“You saved me.”

He had.

Terry had battled death with his bare hands for Daniel and won. But one day, one day …..

“We saved each other,” is all Terry says, focusing on that to stave off the panic.

“Let’s focus on that,” Daniel says, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Terry can feel the warmth of his breaths gaunt his neck.

Plastered against his back, Daniel moves with Terry almost, to the feel the rise and fall of Terry’s breathing. Terry can feel the beat of Daniel’s heart, they’re pressed so tight.

Concentrating on that. On the moment. On what he can control in the here and now.

The dread subsides, for now, even if Terry knows it has simply retreated.

The moonlight shines down on them, this moment in time, and they stay like that until the sun chases it away, illuminating the sins instead.

———————-

“Oh god,” a breathy little moan, as Terry’s cock slides home, opening Daniel to him.

Four fingers, four of Terry’s thick fingers, and his mouth, had put the time in to get Daniel here like this, body open enough to accept the older man inside him; to accept his love.

Like a virgin on a mound, about to be offered up as sacrifice, this is how he will repay Terry.

Daniel arches up, legs squeezing tighter to the older man’s sides as his eyes squeeze shut, blunt fingernails drawing down a broad pale back.

They’ll both bleed for this tonight.

They’ll always bleed for each other.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Terry groans, and Daniel kisses him, only because he can’t handle much more.

He can’t handle Terry here inside him like this - how good it feels - how right it feels - and hear the raw truth in Terry’s voice.

He can’t.

His body is already the temple Terry is about to worship at - to ruin and rebuild - his body the vessel for this offering of his.

He knows his heart and soul will follow suit. If he was being honest with himself, something he seldom is, they already have.

The older man will accept nothing else. Daniel finds he wants nothing else.

Hands roaming, touching warm sweat slick skin, sharing the air moving between them.

The older man so damn gentle as he keeps sliding in.

Daniel finding within himself, to somehow open more and more, until Terry’s cock is all the way in, both men joined as one.

Terry carving a spot for himself that only he will be able to fill.

Hips snapping in, the wet noises of their coupling, the pin pricks of pleasure when the older man’s cock brushes his prostate, the sharp grin, like a shark sensing blood in the water as Terry concentrates on hitting that spot.

Hands pins above his head, Daniel opening his eyes at the older man’s command, Terry staring down.

“I love you. So much, Danny. So damm much,” he groans, rocking in, burying his face into the smaller man’s neck.

The slapping noise of skin on skin as he’s taken, as Terry chases his release, both of their releases, in each other.

Hands grab slim hips, feeling the bone under his palm, fingers digging in, greedy and covetous, but Daniel can feel the love even if he can also feel the bruises it is leaving.

Love with teeth, it suits them.

Always did.

And a love that leaves marks from those teeth, stained red with blood.

A love that is visible - a mixture of pleasure and pain, sometimes in equal measure.

That is them.

“Oh,” he sobs out as he comes in the space between them, not even a hand on his cock needed.

The clenching of his body, already a tight and perfect fit around Terry’s cock, is the older man’s undoing, and his hand grasps the smaller man’s side, covering the now barely visible scar, as empties himself inside the smaller body.

Daniel’s legs fall off his sides, splayed open obscenely as Terry fills and fills and fills him. He moans softly at the sensation of Terry’s come inside him, which doesn’t seem to be stopping, the warming blooming through him as his hips keep gently fucking in, making sure it’s as deep as it can go, making sure Daniel is even more full than he thought possible.

Finally finished, Terry collapses on top of Daniel, careful as he does though. He’s always careful with his boy, even if sometimes it’s his own personal brand of it.

He doesn’t bother to pull out, loathe to leave Daniel’s body until he absolutely has to, even if he is eager to see the mess he’s left his boy in.

There is always later for that.

They have that luxury of later now.

Who would have thought that here, of all places, a second, third, and fourth chance.

Terry’s lost count.

As many as they need to get it right.

Terry will see to that.

[gwen-pierce]

“That’s it for today, everyone! Thanks so much for coming, we’ll see ya next time!” Ruth called from her large desk at the front of the room, emphasizing her dismissal with a happy clap. Gwen began to gather her things from the table, the woman who shared the large slab of wood with waved a quick goodbye before taking off. She was going to pick up her kids from daycare, something Gwen had learned in their few conversations over the last couple of weeks since she joined Ruth’s class.

It had all started when she began therapy. Gwen knew she had dependency issues, self-esteem issues, and even some anger issues to work through. She had thought therapy was just talking about your feelings and suddenly you didn’t feel so bad anymore. It was so much more than that. It was work. It was hard and oftentimes it hurt. At first, she didn’t think it was helping but the more effort she put in the more she started to get out of it. When her therapist suggested she take some classes in the area, Gwen dove right in. She tried cooking and it turns out guidance wasn’t what she was missing in that field, she was downright terrible at it but the class was still fun. She found herself able to laugh at her mistakes instead of feeling stupid and unworthy. She tried other things. Failed at some, excelled in others. Ceramics wasn’t her calling but she did make friends in that class that brought her to some paint and fire events which she was actually good at and enjoyed. Aerial silks left her covered in bruises and so did pole dancing, but the later class made her feel empowered. Sexy, even.

Floral arranging quickly became her favorite weekly event. Not only did she easily get lost in creating bouquets she found the instructor, Ruth’s, voice soothing. Her presence calming. The classroom was warm and inviting and the flowers centered Gwen in a way she hadn’t ever been before. Like they understood her. Beautiful and delicate but maybe, just maybe, stronger than they looked.

“Gwen, dear, do you have a moment?” Ruth had asked as the young blonde passed by the front desk on her way to the door. Smiling warmly, she nodded, pausing opposite the instructor. “Of course, is everything okay? I know I sort of went outside the lines of the brief today and that the arrangement leaned a little more winter than autumnal…” Her voice trailed off as Ruth waved her hand with a soft laugh. “There are no rules in flowers, dear. Your arrangement was beautiful any time of year.” She said, smiling warmly and reaching out her hand to take Gwen’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That’s why I wanted to chat with you. I know it’s only been a couple weeks but I think you’re really gifted, Gwen. The flowers, they speak to you. I think you’re ready for my intermediate class. What do you think?” “Really?” Gwen blanched, color rising to her cheeks. Her gut instinct was to reject the offer and put herself down but she swallowed that urge. That learned behavior that told her she wasn’t good enough. Instead, she mustered up a proud smile and returned Ruth’s hand squeeze with one of her own. “Actually, yeah. The flowers do speak to me and they’re telling me I should.” 

[wizzdot]

Sunshine

Chapter 4

Description: will Ray agree to join the team? Will she go to Mexico with them..? Will she remember how to shoot straight? Who knows..

You listened to what Price had offered. You really tried to find it in yourself to agree, but no. “I can’t do that..”

“Can’t do what..?” - “expect your men to trust me. To, for want of a better term, take a bullet for me.. it’s not fair. Christ, even I wouldn’t trust me as far as you could throw me..”

“..” You glance around at the three men, all silent, the Scot fidgeting with his hoodie strings and Ghost staring straight at back at you. The Captain starts to respond, but you cut him off, earning an exasperated sigh from the man.

“Also.. I’ve been out for months, over a year, in fact... What makes you so sure I can still shoot straight. Hold my own in a fight? What if it’s all gone? Any potential you may have seen in me. It’s gone. I’m exhausted, Captain. You’re placing too much trust in me. I’ll let you down. Your team, I can see it’s precious to you. I can’t be trusted with that responsibility…”

The man clears his throat and sends a wry smile in your direction.

“You don’t lose that sort of skill. It stays with you forever. If, for your own peace of mind, you’d like to go down the range and sharpen up, then feel free. Likewise, if you’d like to spar and polish up on your hand to hand, then I’m sure one of the boys here can help. Gaz, too, once he is fighting fit, which won’t be long. As far as trust goes, I look at it this way. Trust is a two way street. If you trust me, my team, enough to join us, then we will trust you enough to fight alongside. Simple as that, really”.

You clench your jaw, annoyed at yourself for even considering this. No, surely not.. snap out of it!! Just as you think of something to say to help get you out of this, the captain speaks again.

“You have my word, y/n, you’re free to leave. If at any point you want out, just tell me. I’ll sign the papers, set you up with a new identity and new house, you’ll be out. For good. I’ll give you the clearance, make sure you get your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be discharged. I can say it’s on medical grounds.."

You can’t quite believe his offer. When you’d thrown that tantrum at the ceremony, they’d take everything from you. Everything that the Captain had just listed, gone, you had a red stamp across your name.

DISHONOURABLY DISCHARGED

You feel your throat constrict. You clear it slightly, trying to relieve the lump that had settled there.

“Fine” you murmur, not looking up from your shoe laces, if you looked at any of them now, you might change your mind and go running back to your shitty life on the outskirts of town. You’d been more dead for the past 18 months, than you would have been if you’d actually have died in Russia, with the rest of your unit. It had been a sorry existence. One of solitude, and misplaced anger. You’d made your bed and laid in it, so to speak. And God, was it a horrible, lumpy, uncomfortable bed..

“Fine, I’ll do it” you repeat, turning on your heel and leaving the room.

“Welcome to the team, Ray. Johnny will show you to your room, and give you a quick tour of the base” the Captain replies, in an even tone, hiding his slight surprise at your agreement.

You glance to Johnny, who immediately snaps out of his dazed state and jumps to his task. “Right, yeah, ok! Follow me, lass”.

You follow Soap, who cleverly decides not to make conversation, this time. He arrives at a room.

“This is you..” he explains pointing to the door in front of him. He then points to his left “that’s Gaz..” then to his right “and that’s me - Cap and Ghost have their own rooms in the next hall. The common room is at the end of this hallway - 141 only. The communal mess hall is back the way we came, near the infirmary. The gym —”

You decide to interrupt. “That’s all, you can go.. I know where everything else is” you murmur, accidentally harshly. He immediately turns and it makes you feel guilty for your tone. Christ, you’d not had to be nice to anyone for years.. you were rusty.

As he turns away with a glum look on his usually too cheery face, you wince, realising that you’d upset him. You step into the room he had shown you, closing the door behind you. It was a typical military base room. A bed in the middle, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, with a desk on the other side of the room. Basic and simple. You dump your bags on the bed and start rummaging through what little you had left.

These bags hadn’t been touched since you’d left. They were still packed from when Price and Kyle had arrived to your room immediately after storming out from the ceremony. As you unzip the rucksack, filled with your old life, your dog tags tumble down and snag on the zip.

You try to blink away the sting in your eyes, holding them up to the light with the metal chain. They clink against each other, flashing the artificial ceiling light into your eyes . Up close, you can see small scratches and tiny divots - scars left behind from years of service.

After a deep breath, you lift them and secure them around your neck - finally back where they belong. They feel cold against your skin, but the sensation feels familiar. Pull yourself together!

The next thing in your bag, is your old shemagh. It is tattered, torn and frayed at the edges. It’d always been with you on the field. You’d never been anywhere without it. If it wasn’t around your neck, it was tied to a gun, or around a belt loop. It was your good luck charm. God, the miles that old scarf had done…

You noticed that the Captain and Gaz usually wear one of their own around their necks. You weren’t sure if theirs held the same emotional attachment as yours did, but you assumed their ‘items’ were the hats that always donned their heads, and Ghost’s was his mask. You weren’t sure what Soap’s thing was yet..

As you pull it from the rucksack, the fabric feels so soft in your hands, you scrunch it up and take a huge inhale of its scent. Memories flood your vision. You sit down on the bed, allowing yourself a moment to reminisce on the past.

A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“Y/n? Still in ‘ere?” The voice asks.

You roll your eyes. It was Gaz.

“What do you want?”

“To catch up..” he replies, undeterred

“Already have..”

“C’mon, Ray.. let me in..” he whines, trying the handle.

Damn it, should have locked the door.

He freezes when he sees you, sitting on the bed, hands wrapped around your military scarf and wearing your dog tags around your neck. He eyes you for what seems like ages. Eventually he speaks..

“There she is!” he smirks “knew you couldn’t resist...”

[l0verclown]

From pressured to driven Part 2

What happens when you feel pressured to do something you never thought you'd do?

Especially if 4 serial killers are the ones pressuring you.

Slight ronin x reader

| spoilers for Killer chat!!! This is part two of "From pressured to driven". As always, my writing sucks so its probably Ooc. I have no idea if i want to continue with more parts, but hey who knows.

TW: Mention of murder, going insane, light gore, SA?(forced kissing)

PSA: I don't support neither am i trying to glorify/Normalize the words mentioned above. SA should be taken serious and it is not meant to be joked around.

Part 1:

You were walking around, searching for any "victims" to kill whilst trying not to freak out by the amount of corpses were in the alley. Damm, you knew Ronin liked going on killing sprees, but this much? If you counted every corpse you have walked past, it would be already above the 20. It didn't feel right, seeing all those unfortunate souls all on the ground, but you also couldn't help continue searching because before you know you are one going to become one of them if they find out.

*Ding!*

A notification?

Dear Reader,

I heard that you were writing a book, which is pretty interesting so my congratulations for that one.

moving on, one of our best reporters, Greg, has unfortunately resigned.

So my question to you is if you are able to make five new articles before the clock hits midnight. I expect at least two articles, but my apologies if this has come to you late, but if you are able to do it, i will try my best to reduce the amount of work you already have.

I wish you the best of luck on this.

Kind regards

Your boss.

You have to be serious. Five whole articles?

Not only did you have to make five new articles, you have to find a way to pretend that you killed a person. Not only that, it was 19:21.

19:21...

Fuck.

You have 4 hours and 30 minutes before midnight. You have to find a solution, and quick. Fuck, maybe you do want to kill someone, and with someone you mean your boss or either Greg.

Greg...

Always him, the 'best' reporter in the company. Total bullshit, he was average, a total pervert even. But the fact he resigned and that you had to chase after his bullshit!?

You felt anger raising up, adrenaline rushing through your veins, the amount of stress and anger that was mixed in your body was insufferable, that if you went to a therapist, they would either send you to a mental hospital or diagnose you with whatever mental disorder is popular.

*Ding!*

Another notification..?

@BestGregg: Hey Reader! Sorry for resigning so early and sudden but i got offered a wayy better job, and i couldn't pass up on that offer. Btw make sure to finish those assignments lol and because i'm resigning, how 'bout we meet up? I mean ur kinda chill and its gonna be fun. So what do you think?

Seriously? A meet up? Who does he think he is? My dad???

@SerialMC: Uhh..

sure i guess. Can we meet up here? *Insert Purgatory location*, i'll wait for u there, I'm here with some friends but i'm sure they don't mind.

@BestGregg: Sweet, i'll be there in 10 minutes, be prepared to have the best night of ur life ;)

Not only is he a total loser, he's a total pervert too. You continued walking, your mind just being full of total bullshit right now. First, your serial killer friends want you to kill somebody, second your stupid boss wants you to write 5 articles, and third your perverted ex-coworker wants to hangout and is going to try to hit on you.

Life's been going shit these weeks, you got hit with an inspiration block which means no more idea's for your next book. You've been trying to find out on how to tell the server that you're not actually a serial killer (What will probably never happen) and now this.

You gripped the knife that you previously found tighter, resisting the urge to even throw it. You can't kill anyone, you don't want to kill anyone, but in your state, it seemed like the only solution left.

"EYY READER, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

"I have a feeling they left"

"No way, they wouldn't leave us, their friends behind, i know them."

"Hah, So they're not as tough as they seem huh?"

"Hey! Don't say that, people like us just have our own struggles. Just let us be you edgeboy"

Fuck fuck fuck.

They were searching for you, and you haven't done anything at all, and looking at the time, that stupid greg should be somewhere here now.

How the fuck did you end up in this position!? Seriously, this would've been some fun hanging out day, but it always ends up in trouble. You just wished you could bury yourself somewhere.

"Yooo Reader it's me Greg!"

How he greeted himself scared the shit out of you, you hid the knife somewhere in your jacket, so he wouldn't notice. It was pretty dark out here, but from the looks of it and how he talked seemed like he had a bit to drink.

"Oh hey.. Greg."

"Whats up with the sad face reader? Are you not happy to see me?"

"No it's just. Work and stuff.. Gotta write 5 articles.. Ha ha.."

"Awh damn, sorry reader. Didn't know i was that important to the company, i mean, being the best reporter in the department? Hell yeah!"

He continued talking about how cool, and important he was that you didn't notice that you were basically backing up into a corner because of how much he talked.

"Ohh yeah, I think you need to confess something, reader."

"Confess.. What?"

He got closer to you, basically trapping you in that corner that you went to yourself. You said you wanted to bury yourself somewhere? Guess that place is here. He leaned into your face, you could feel his intoxicated breath, it reeked of alcohol and whatever cocktails he was drinking, but he didn't seem to go away.

"Don't act stupid, i know how you've been looking at me, you like me, don't you?"

Like. Him?

You hated that man. First, he got with all your female coworkers, he's the so-called "best reporter", he acts like a total asshole, pervert, and his looks are like the devil himself tried making the ugliest person that has ever existed. Not only that, but he has so much controversy, but of course, your boss ignores it because he was a good worker.

"I don't understand? I don't like you?

"Don't be shy, i know what you want"

Before you knew it, he slammed his lips into yours, forcefully kissing you as he held you by the waist. You yelped in disgust, tears starting to form in your eyes. You hated it, you couldn't move, you felt helpless. After he was done kissing you, he looked at you with a grin and you looked terrified.

"Look, you enjoyed that didn't ya? C'monn, i know ya want more"

"And don't worry, i won't go rough on you"

Oh.

Is this your end?

No.

It is not.

You can change

Maybe they will say you became corrupted.

But was it really, if it originated from fear?

You slowly gripped the knife you hid in your jacket, and held it tight in your hand.

"You know what i want..."

You put your free hand on his chest, he leaned in, looking like he wanted to kiss you, but before you could do that, you plunged that knife right into his chest.

He screamed, but you continued. You kept stabbing him near his heart, he tried pushing you off of himself, but you were too determined to finish him. After everything he did, all you wanted to do is never see him again.

Countless screams were forming in his throat, it sounded so god awfull, but that is why it was perfect. That's what stupid, perverted good for nothing deserve. A deep plunge in the heart. At this point, you were sure the rest could've heard the screams and were probably heading your way, but you didn't care about that. For now.

You pushed his body to the ground, before gripping two hands on the handle of the knife, and plunged even harder into his chest. You dragged the knife from his chest to his intestines, before stabbing him again for countless times. You felt anger and stress slowly leave, the crimson staining you. You felt.. Weird. You did feel guilty, yes but after all he did. He deserved it. You ripped out the knife, before hearing some voices behind you.

"Oh my, So Darlin' did end up killin someone huh? And even stabbing the intestines? How gruesome, i like that"

You turned around, hearing the voices of your friends

"Oh shit... Who that guy was, he was definitely hated by them.. Look at the stab marks holy shit, reader went batshit and im here for it"

"Oh.. My, reader, how are you feeling? I don't think that guy was some ordinary guy guys.."

"... The sight is gruesome"

You laughed, you kept laughing before finally stabbing the knife into his skull. He was finally gone.

".. That guy was my ex coworker. He kept stressing me out, making flirty moves, and.. Ended up forcefully kissing me."

Angel looked at you with a mix of reassurance and a look of "I've been there", and she slowly approached you along with Misaki. Meanwhile Misaki was a bit in denial, not because of the fact that you killed him, but because what he did to you. V was crossing his arms and shaking his head, while Ronin was heading towards the guy.

".. What you did there, reader.. I, oddly relate to it. Weird creepy perverted men hitting on you while you weren't doing anything? Killing him was a good choice, reader."

Angel was quite literally an angel. She is nice, she is understanding and she can relate to anyone. You're great full you have her as a friend.

Misaki was giving you constant back pats, trying to comfort you from that guy. You noticed that she was trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey so.. That guy was a total creep, and what you did was totally valid- I mean as a pervert, what did he expect?"

You forced a laugh out of that one, it was funny but for the sake of Misaki, you cracked a laugh so that she wouldn't suspect anything. But you know she meant good, if it was up to her, she would've killed the guy in a second.

V was looking at you and the guy, sighing before muttering out a sentence.

"You finished him, not for fun or for entertainment.. But for your safety and because of fear. Not bad at all."

His words shock you, because you didn't expect him to say that at all. You didn't really speak to him, and when you did, he was always on some "I will find out who you are" shit. Guess V is able to feel some sympathy after all.

You didn't even notice the fact that Ronin was ripping apart that guy's chest to grab his heart, you were starting to hear some weird- crack and bone breaking noises, that you couldn't help but look backwards at the body to find Ronin trying to obtain the guys heart.

Eventually, Ronin had the heart in his hand, and looked at you with a smile

"Darlin', Would ya mind giving me his aorta? And it's that ugly guy's heart, which makes it 10x better. C'monn, do it for the poor little devil."

He looked at you, with that stupid little smile from the first time you kissed, the moment you began rotting and corrupting. You laughed, and took the heart. Since Ronin started talking about the Aorta that much, you decided to google search a bit just to know where it was for a moment like this (which you never actually expected to happen)

You carefully ripped some of the other pieces of the heart, accidentally deattaching the superior vena cava and some artery, but eventually you managed to remove the aorta, and handed it to Ronin.

"To my dearest devil, the one who corrupted me."

Angel looked at Ronin with a look of "What the actual fuck ronin." and he just laughed. You smiled and He gave you a hair ruffle and put the aorta in some weird place in his bag. Gross, but hey, he can do whatever he wants.

You looked at your clothes, It was basically stained red now, but your face, hands and pants were a total mess. You sighed, before thinking of a way on how to get home without getting the police after you.

" You look like a complete fuckin mess. Not that i'm complaining, but you probably are. How 'bout i give you a ride to my house, and stay there?"

You wanted to agree, you didn't mind the idea, but you wondered about the others, what about them? It would be quite rude to leave them here.

Before you could say anything, Misaki overheard the convo and made an idea.

"YOO IS THAT A SLEEPOVER I HEAR!?"

".. I'm not really fond of sleepovers."

"Maybe we could? I mean it is the best way to end the hangout"

". Fuck no, i don't have enough space for five people. And besides, i don't think anyone can survive the devils little hideout"

"Stop being edgy for once ronin, your living room is big enough"

".. Wow, guess i have no choice do i?"

"A sleepover it is, then."

You decided to take a photo of the body, and you were planning on sending it in the server. To have some more 'evidence' that you killed someone. Would your old self be proud of you? Absolutely not, but people change. You changed by being rotten and corrupted, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

weird..

You have this odd feeling that doesn't go away

It feels like a craving.

More killing, it screams your name.

You feel like killing more people.

Their agony, your pleasure.

Time to show them what you have become.

[jkl-fff]

Ford, solemnly: Now that we're free ... Please don't hold it against Dipper that he locked us in a room together to try to make us get along.

Norman: I wasn't going to. Like, I'm not thrilled about it, but I'm not mad, either. Just mildly annoyed. It's another one of his antics. But why does it matter so much to him?

Ford: *sigh* Dipper reminds me of my younger self in a lot of ways. Good ways and bad ways. We both have a tendency to be ... obsessive and get swept up in our own excitement, for example, even to the point of being irrational despite our minds being practically hard-wired for analytical thought. And neither of us deals well with perceived rejection or betrayal.

Norman: But I didn't reject or betray him. I only said that I didn't really like you.

Ford: Yes, but like I said earlier, we're both very important to him. He sees me as a mentor and maybe ever as a role model, he sees you as his best friend--

Norman, surprised and pleased: H-he said that? He called me his "best friend"?

Ford: He's hasn't used that exact phrase, but you don't need 12 Ph.D.s to figure it out. The point is, we're both very important parts of ... of his life, of his psyche, of who he identifies with and how he sees himself. I imagine he perceives someone not liking either of us as not liking a part of himself. Hence a perceived rejection.

Norman: ... Yeah, I guess I can see that. It makes no sense, not really, but also it does sorta make sense for Dipper. He once spent a whole afternoon trying to concince me that I should like Wes Anderson, even though I just don't.

Ford: *shrug* I did say we can be irrational despite being so analytical ... I'm glad you're not mad at him. Please reassure him of that. By all means, be firm with him about not locking you in rooms and such. I'm not saying to put up with shit--Oh, damn, can I say shit in front of a child?

Norman, wryly: I won't tell a fucking soul if you won't.

Ford: Ha! Well, as I was saying, don't put up with his shit. But please reassure him this whole ... episode hasn't changed anything between you. You're still friends, even when you don't agree. I think that would be ... would be very good for him. It'll help him grow up into someone who doesn't remind me of my younger self.

Norman: ... Do I have to give the gun back now?

Ford: No, you can borrow it for the day. Have fun, just don't shoot any people or any animals or any property that I personally care about.

Norman: Cool! But ... *sigh* Okay, why did you say that thing just now about it being good for him? Gonna bug me 'til I understand.

Ford, wistfully: ... Do you know how many friends I've had in my whole life? Truly close friends, who I felt I could be truly honest with about who and what I am?

Norman, taken aback: Uh ... This isn't about you being probably bisexual, is it?

Ford: What? No--Well, maybe, I guess--

Norman: Is it going to be about Dipper being probably bisexual?

Ford, exasperated: It's about isolation, you spikey-haired ... child. I 've had 3. One was my brother, who I turned my back on because of anger, resentment, and self-absorption. I got so swept up in obsession and feeling betrayed by him over an accident, that I let it cost me my only real friend at the time. One was McGucket, who I pushed away because of obsession and a need to be a genius and a pioneer of science. I got so swept up in feeling like he was rejecting me over ... Oh, it hardly matters now, given how unstable I was. The point is, it cost me the only real friend I had again.

Norman: And the third one?

Ford, haunted: ... That was Bill. Who did actually betray and reject me--who never actually was my friend, for all that I believed he was at the time. But that didn't exactly help my fear of betrayal and rejection, as you can imagine. And all of it happened ultimately because my own obsession and tendency to be swept up in my own excitement drove me towards isolation.

Norman: Which you don't want to happen to Dipper.

Ford: Yes. I understand he also has struggled to make friends over the years, only really having Mabel for so long. Isolation again. But you Mystery Kids, with you in particular as his best friend, Norman, have helped him so much by genuinely befriending him. That's helping him learn to be more ... more grounded and more stable and ... and good. More good--better, I mean--than I was. Which I want. I want him to be better than I was. So ... yes.

Norman: Yeah.

Ford: *nods* Good.

Norman: *nods* Great ... I'm, um, gonna go blast something now.

Who knew all it took to solve your personal grievances was giving a small child an unregistered high-tech firearm?

[worstloki]

there is a difference between being born to a throne, maliciously vying for a throne, stealing a throne, and having a throne thrust upon you when you are already in the midst of an identity crisis. And I fear Loki's place in the line of succession has people unable to differentiate between any of these

[heckling-hydrena]

I am with you at being constantly frustrated with the FR community's insistence that people are being censored when staff deletes forum posts about moderation. I've been on FR for almost 6 years and during that time they've always deleted moderation related posts, so why must people freak out and act like it's a brand new thing thought up to silence people every time it happens?

I believe that it's possible to criticize staff over new rules without developing weird conspiracy theories whenever they direct people towards the correct places for feedback

I feel like there's a certain subset of flight rising player whose god-given mission is to formulate only the most bad-faith interpretation of anything staff says or does and then spam the flight rising tag with their entirely unconstructive and needlessly vitriolic knee-jerk response to it. And it feels really fucking mean to say that but it's been my consistent experience in the fr tag for years now.

And listen I love being a hater I love criticizing this game I also get mad at staff when they do and say stupid shit (which happens disappointingly often) but those weird conspiracy theory posts are just. Soooo tiring. Consistently witnessing people just outright refuse to use the communication method that staff directly fucking links them to instead go on about how staff doesn't listen to them is slowly turning me into the joker.